IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 


41NIV,  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


"  ON   AND   ON   THEY   STRUGGLED 


In  the 

Valley  of  the  Shadows 


By 

THOMAS    LEE  WOOLWINE 


Illustrated  by 
CHARLES    M.    RELYEA 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
1909 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,   INCLUDING  THAT  O*  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT.  1909,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  *  COMPANY 
PUBLISHED,   FEBRUARY,   igog 


TO   A.   W. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"On  and  on  they  struggled"     Frontispiece 


FACING   PAGE 


"  'Air  ye  a-goin'  with  me,  Betty  ? '  he 

repeated" 14 

"Andy  stood  in  puzzled  bewilderment"      66 

"  'Don't  say  that,  Betty,'  he  cried,  'ye 

don't  mean  it,  I  know  ye  don't*          88 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 


CHAPTER  I 

GREAT  mountain  ranges,  the  silent 
sentries  of  countless  ages,  kept  their 
eternal  watch  over  Twilight  Valley,  and 
reared  their  pine-hooded  heights  far  up 
the  sky  to  the  east  and  to  the  west  of  the 
fertile  lowlands.  The  first  rays  of  the 
morning  sun  streaked  high  across  the 
heavens,  far  above  the  slumbering  vale; 
and  long  before  the  fall  of  night  the  orb 
of  day  sank  beneath  the  lofty  summits 
of  the  westward  ridges  and  wrapped  the 
little  valley  in  the  restful,  soothing  shades 
of  early  twilight. 

Winter  was  upon  the  land.  A  steady 
snow  had  fallen  throughout  the  day  and 
long  ere  the  shadows  of  gloaming  length- 
ened across  the  narrow  vale,  the  leafless 
branches  of  the  great  trees  creaked  and 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

swayed  under  their  fleecy  burden;  and  the 
earth  lay  snug  under  a  thickening  cover- 
let of  unblemished  down. 

Two  roads  cut  their  devious  way  through 
clearing  and  woodland  and  met  and  crossed 
at  right  angles  midway  the  valley.  In  their 
guise  of  white,  they  lay  like  mystical  untrod 
highways,  fashioned  by  some  strange, 
invisible  power,  and  wrapped  in  spotless 
folds,  awaiting  the  tread  of  myriad  angels. 

At  this  secluded  meeting  of  the  ways, 
stood  old  Steve  Jennings's  modest  store, 
famous  as  a  bartering  and  trading  centre, 
as  well  as  a  place  of  hearty  good  cheer 
and  generous  hospitality. 

Steve  Jennings  was  the  best  loved  and 
best  known  man  in  all  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Twilight  Valley.  He  had 
neither  kith  nor  kin,  so  far  as  anyone 
knew.  Rumour  had  it  that  when  a  mere 
youth  some  mysterious  and  unknown 
sorrow  had  driven  him  across  the  great 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

ranges  from  somewhere  in  the  Carolinas. 
He  had  never  spoken  of  his  early  sur- 
roundings, nor  of  his  antecedents,  and 
no  man  cared  to  intrude  upon  the  sanctity 
of  his  reticence. 

Some  distance  up  the  road,  the  music 
of  Mark  Tilly's  anvil  had  echoed  through 
the  woods  for  many  a  long  year;  and 
these  two  hoary  old  pioneers  were  wont 
to  while  away  the  lingering  hours  of 
winter  evenings  in  reminiscent  converse, 
or  checkers,  or  "kyerds." 

The  last  note  of  the  clanging  anvil 
had  died  away  on  the  timbered  slopes, 
and  the  hush  of  night  was  upon  the  land. 
Foul  weather  held  no  terrors  for  the  hardy 
old  smith,  and,  after  a  laboured  trudge 
through  the  deepening  snow,  he  sat  before 
Steve's  ample  fire,  half  asleep  in  its  nar- 
cotic warmth. 

The  wind,  straight  from  the  north, 
had  risen  and  was  blowing  bitter  cold. 

[5] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Steve  rose  slowly  from  his  chair  and 
rearranged  the  blazing,  crackling  faggots; 
then  stirred  the  glowing  embers  till  they 
sparkled  with  a  genial  warmth.  Resum- 
ing his  seat,  the  two  sat  for  a  long  time 
looking  into  the  fire,  thoughtful  and  medi- 
tative, no  word  breaking  the  melancholy 
cadence  of  the  wintry  gale  as  it  moaned 
and  sobbed  its  way  through  the  leafless 
branches  of  the  nearby  trees. 

Old  Steve  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence.  "Mark,"  he  began,  "it  war  jest 
sech  a  night,  thirty  year  agone,  that  Luke 
Gentry  war  kilt.  It  hed  been  a-snowin* 
all  day  an'  the  road  war  all  kivered  an* 
white.  I  war  a-settin*  right  about  hyar, 
kinder  studyin*  an*  a-thinkin'  of  old  times 
when  I  hearn  a  shot  away  off  up  thar." 

The  speaker  paused  and  pointed  into 
the  north;  then,  relighting  his  ancient  cob 
pipe  with  a  live  coal  fished  from  the 
glowing  fire,  he  gravely  continued: 

[6] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Mark,  yer  know  me  an'  Luke  Gentry 
sort  er  tuk  ter  one  another  from  the  time 
we-uns  war  boys  tergether."  He  paused, 
while  a  look  of  sadness  clouded  his  grizzled 
face;  then  he  leaned  forward  and  gazed 
confidingly  into  the  eyes  of  his  companion. 
"Tell  yer  the  truth,  Mark,  him  and  me 
sparked  the  same  gal.  They  don't  make 
'em  like  her  these  days.  Ye  know,  I 
war  a  purty  peart  youngster,  an'  it  war 
nip  an'  tuck  fer  quite  a  spell,  I  tell  yer. 
Wall  —  Luke  Gentry  won  out.  Of 
course,  that  did  n't  make  no  differ,  bein'  's 
he  done  it  fair  and  square.  That 's  been 
a  long  time  ago,"  he  slowly  added,  as 
if  loath  to  leave  the  pain  of  a  sweet  regret. 

Then  the  dreamy  hush  of  vagrant 
reveries  fell  upon  them,  as  the  smoke 
drifted  lazily  toward  the  blackened  rafters. 

"Wall  —  when  I  hearn  the  shot,  I  kinder 
held  my  breath,  and  listened.  It  war  a 
wild  night  an'  the  wind  war  a-moanin' 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

and  a-cryin'  like  somethin'  in  misery. 
I  recollect  thar  war  somethin'  in  the 
sound  thet  sort  er  made  me  lonesome  an' 
oneasy  a-settinj  thar  all  alone.  All  of  a 
sudden,  I  hearn  a  human  bein's  voice 
a-cryinj  out  in  the  storm.  I  jumped  ter 
my  feet  an'  swung  the  door  wide  open 
and  stood  still  a-listenin'  ter  ketch  whar 
ther  sound  war  a-comin'  from;  but  all 
war  ez  still  an'  quiet  ez  the  grave,  save 
the  mournful  singin'  of  the  wind  in  the 
trees.  The  snow  war  a  beatin'  into  the 
doorway,  an'  I  stepped  back  an'  war 
a-shettin'  the  door  when  I  hearn  a  sound 
like  the  wind  a-moanin'  my  name.  It 
war  up  yander  in  the  direction  of  the 
shot." 

He  paused  and  puffed  his  pipe  in  silent 
meditation,  then  rose  and  made  his  way 
to  the  window.  With  his  face  pressed 
close  against  the  pane,  he  stood  for  some 
time  gazing  into  the  cold,  impenetrable 

[8] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

night.  Suddenly  he  turned.  "Listen! 
Mark,  did  ye  hear  it?  It  war  jest  the 
same  that  night  thirty  year  agone."  Slowly 
resuming  his  seat,  he  went  on:  "Wall, 
Mark,  the  snow  war  knee  deep  on  the 
level  and  it  war  drifted  ter  the  fence  tops. 
Up  yander  some  two  hundred  yards,  I 
found  a  man  a-lyin'  in  the  drift,  all  but 
dead.  I  don't  know  how  I  ever  done  it, 
Mark,  he  war  so  limp  and  played  out 
—  it  war  hard  work  —  but,  arter  a  big 
tussle,  I  fetched  him  in.  I  pulled  him  in 
front  of  the  fire  an*  tuk  a  look  at  his  face. 
Great  God!  it  war  Luke  Gentry!  Yes, 
it  war  Luke,  an'  his  face  war  ez  white  ez 
the  snow  on  his  coat." 

Relapsing  into  silence,  he  poked  the 
ashes  in  his  pipe,  then  gazed  at  the  glow- 
ing coals.  "My  hands  war  all  slimy  and 
red  with  blood  ez  I  worked  over  him  ter 
bring  him  to.  I  forced  some  liquor  between 
his  teeth,  then  he  opened  his  eyes  an* 

[9] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

kinder  smiled  an'  whispered  my  name. 
He  said,  'Steve/  jest  like  that,  then  fell 
ter  sleep  agin.  I  made  him  ez  easy  ez 
I  could  considering  and  left  him;  an* 
it  war  not  long  afore  I  war  back  hyar 
with  a  young  doctor,  what  lived  over 
yander  on  the  crick,  an'  one  or  two  of  the 
boys  from  up  the  road.  When  we  all 
got  back  Luke  war  lying  face  up  a-starin' 
at  the  rafters.  He  war  mighty  nigh  gone. 
'Boys,'  he  sorter  whispered,  'It  war  Buck 
Taylor  ez  done  it,  about  a  game  of  kyerds 
over  at  Woodlie.'  Them  war  the  last 
words  that  Luke  Gentry  ever  said,  an' 
that  war  the  beginnin'  of  the  trouble 
betwixt  the  Gentrys  and  the  Taylors. 

"  One  of  the  Gentrys  laid  Buck  out  in 
a  fair  fight  afore  the  sheriff  could  ketch 
him,  an'  the  fightin'  did  n't  let  up  till  both 
families  war  well  nigh  cleaned  up.  Yer 
know  the  last  bad  fracas  war  over  in  Lost 
Meader.  Arter  that,  some  on  'em  got 

[10] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

tired  of  a-shootin'  an'  a-dodgin'  an'  moved 
away." 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe,  then  reached  for  the 
well-worn  checker  board.  "I  reckon,"  he 
added,  by  way  of  conclusion,  "it  air  all  over 
now,  bein'  's  thar  hain't  been  no  fightin' 
ner  trouble  fer  upwards  of  twenty  year 


or  more." 


Mark  had  listened  without  a  word  and 
with  some  show  of  interest  to  this  repe- 
tition of  a  story,  the  details  of  which  were 
perfectly  familiar  to  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  within  a  radius  of  a  score  of 
miles.  It  was  new  to  him  only  in  this, 
that  Steve  Jennings  had  seldom  spoken 
of  the  subject  to  anyone. 

Mark  was  leaning  far  back  in  his  chair, 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head, 
gazing  thoughtfully  upward.  "Steve,"  he 
slowly  drawled,  "yer  judgment  air,  in 
general,  purty  fair,  but  ye  air  away  off 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

this  time.  Mace  Taylor  war  born  with 
the  devil  in  him  an*  he  air  a-layin'  low. 
Mark  my  words,  ef  a  Gentry  ever  crosses 
his  track,  thar  '11  be  hell  ter  pay  in  Twi- 
light Valley,  I  'm  a-thinkin'." 


[12] 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  THE  edge  of  Twilight  Valley, 
nestling  close  beneath  the  towering 
ridges,  lies  a  sequestered  clearing.  It  is 
a  picturesque,  unfrequented  solitude, 
locked  in  the  heart  of  the  vast  wilderness 
and  long  since  overgrown  with  a  thick 
carpet  of  native  verdure.  An  abandoned 
footpath  cuts  an  uneven  rift  in  the  grass  and 
weeds,  leading  from  the  woods  to  the 
rotting  steps  of  a  dilapidated  mountain 
cabin,  deserted  and  tenantless  save  for 
the  wild  things  that  find  indifferent  shelter 
beneath  its  decaying  roof,  and  live  and 
build  and  thrive  unhampered  and  unharmed 
of  mankind. 

It  was  May,  and  the  busy  wasps  were 
hanging  their  nests  close  against  the  oaken 
shakes;  blue-winged  dirt  daubers  fashioned 

[13] 


"'AIR  YE  A-GOIN'  WITH  ME,  BETTY?'  HE  REPEATED" 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

their  homes  of  earth  in  tiny  niches  out  of 
the  way  of  the  dew  and  the  rain;  "white 
head"  bumblebees  flew,  honey  laden, 
from  far-away  fields,  and  disappeared  in 
circular  holes  bored  deep  in  the  flinty 
fibre  of  the  weather-seasoned  logs;  and 
water  swallows,  swift  as  arrows,  circled 
from  a  nearby  creek,  flitting  in  and  out 
past  the  half  open,  sagging  door.  Between 
the  house  and  the  slopes  some  straggling 
fruit  trees  still  survived  the  ravages  of 
long  neglect,  and  stood,  weed-choked  and 
forgotten,  with  here  and  there  a  bare, 
dead  limb,  showing  stark  and  lifeless  amid 
the  sweet-scented  blossoms  and  the  green 
of  the  leaves. 

On  the  topmost  step  near  the  cabin 
door,  impatient  of  the  creeping  shadows 
and  the  coming  night,  with  tense,  serious 
face,  sat  Nathan  Gentry,  his  elbow  upon 
his  knee,  his  square,  well-moulded  chin 
resting  in  his  partially  closed  palm. 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Beneath  him,  on  a  lower  step,  sitting 
with  bowed  head  and  eyes  bent  thought- 
fully upon  the  ground,  battling  with  the 
greatest  problem  her  simple  life  had  ever 
known,  Bettie  Taylor  listened  with  beat- 
ing heart  and  flushed  face. 

The  man  turned  and  looked  where  the 
sun  had  already  passed  behind  the  dis- 
tant peaks. 

"Air  ye  a-goin'  with  me,  Bettie?"  he 
repeated,  in  a  tone  of  tender  pleading. 

For  some  time  she  remained  thought- 
ful and  silent,  while  the  shadows  length- 
ened toward  the  east  and  the  low  of  the 
distant  cattle  floated  from  a  far-off  meadow, 
marking  the  coming  of  the  long  twilight. 
Finally  she  turned  her  face  in  mute  appeal 
toward  his.  He  realized  the  crisis  through 
which  she  was  passing,  and  her  troubled 
look  filled  his  great  soul  with  limitless  love 
and  compassion. 

"Bettie,"  he  whispered,  "I  love  ye  so 
[15] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

that  life  don't  seem  good  without  ye  no 
more.  I  think  of  ye  an'  long  fer  ye  all 
the  time,  an'  I  want  ye  near  me  where  I 
can  keer  fer  ye  an'  work  fer  ye,  always. 
It 's  no  use  ter  be  a-waitin'  any  longer. 
I  've  loved  ye  all  these  years,  as  I  had  a 
right  ter  love  ye.  I  've  never  wronged  a 
Taylor  or  any  other  man.  They  hate 
the  name,  that 's  all!" 

The  colour  came  like  roses  in  her  cheeks, 
and  lingered  there;  then  she  looked  away, 
while  the  first  spoken  message  of  love  came 
in  sweet  confusion  from  her  trembling  lips: 
"/  don't  hate  ye,  Nath;  7  love  ye  an' 
will  love  ye  ez  long  ez  I  live,  fer  I  know 
ye  air  good  an*  noble  an'  true  I  'd  go 
with  ye  ef  I  could,  but  don't  ye  see  how 
it  is  ?  It 's  fer  you-uns  sake.  I  don't  want 
'em  ter  harm  ye,  Nath." 

He  bent  forward  and  placed  his  hand 
affectionately  upon  her  shoulder.  "It  air 
sweet  ter  hear  ye  talk  that  way,"  he  said, 

[16] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

his  voice  low  and  impassioned.  'They 
can  never  keep  ye  from  me,  fer  ye  air  mine 
and  I  am  yourn." 

"Oh,  Nath,  ye  don't  understand! 
They  hate  ye  so,  they  'd  never  let  ye 
marry  me.  They  'd  no  sooner  find  it 
out  than  they  'd  hunt  ye  down  an*  they  'd 
kill  ye,  no  matter  if  ye  war  already  mine. 
They  call  ye  one  of  the  *  breed/  an'  they 
say  the  breed  air  all  bad." 

The  man's  eyes  kindled  and  his  face 
burned  red  with  anger;  yet  his  answer 
was  quiet  and  characteristic.  "Bettie,  it 
air  twenty  year  and  better  since  the  last 
shot  war  fired,  an'  that  shot  war  fired 
hyar  in  Lost  Meadow  —  by  a  Taylor,  an' 
kilt  a  Gentry." 

Pausing  for  self-control,  he  continued: 
"Still  they  go  on  a-hatin'  the  breed,  as 
they  call  us.  Well  —  Pappy  an'  me  air 
all's  left  of  the  breed  ter  hate,  an'  me  ner 
Tom  Gentry  never  raised  a  hand  agin  a 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Taylor  in  all  our  lives."  They  sat  in 
silence  for  a  moment,  then  a  look  of  calm 
determination  came  into  his  eyes.  "I'm 
not  the  killin'  kind,"  he  said,  "I  mean  ter 
harm  no  man,  but  it  air  my  right  ter  love 
yer,  an*  ef  ye  '11  go  with  me,  ye  will  be 
my  wife  afore  they  git  wind  of  it,  an'  arter 
that  —  well,  I  reckon  they  won't  never 
take  ye  from  me,  an'  life  '11  be  more  'n 
good  enough  ter  fight  for." 

The  girl  turned,  and  her  gentle  eyes 
bore  a  timid,  frightened  look.  "Nath," 
she  pleaded,  her  voice  low  and  earnest, 
"ye  won't  never  harm  'em,  will  ye?  — 
onless  —  onless  ye  air  forced  ter  it  ter 

save  yer  own  life,  an' Ye  will  keep 

away  from  'em,  won't  ye,  for  my  sake? 
They  air  my  blood,  an'  I  don't  want  ye 
ter  harm  'em;  an'  then  —  an'  then  — 
I  'm  so  a-feared  they  might  hurt  ye, 
Nath." 

He  did  not  attempt  an  answer,  but  sat 

[18] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

engrossed  in  thought,  with  troubled  gaze 
fixed  upon  the  far-off  peaks.  Then  a 
strange  light  came  into  his  eyes.  "Bet- 
tie,"  he  ventured,  "I  wonder  ef  Mace  and 
Andy  Taylor  keer  fer  ye  ez  I  do.  Maybe 
ef  they  knew  they  would  n't  despise  me 
no  more  jest  because  I  'm  a  Gentry,  an', 
in  time,  like  ez  not,  they  'd  larn  ter  think 
better  of  me.  I  'd  like  ter  go  to  Jem,  face 
ter  face,  and  tell  'em  all  about  it,  Bettie. 
It  don't  seem  the  part  of  a  man,  nohow, 
ter  be  a-hidin'  an'  a-skulkin'  around  the 
woods,  same  ez  a  wild  painter.  S'posin' 
I  go  with  ye,  now,  an'  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it  ?  Let  me  tell  'em  that  I  love  ye  ? " 

The  old  frightened  look  came  into  her 
eyes.  "No,  no,  ye  don't  know  them  ez 
I  do!  They  wouldn't  listen  ter  you-uns; 
I  know  they  would  n't."  She  turned  and 
caught  his  arm,  while  the  light  of  a  new 
hope  beamed  in  her  face.  "Nath,"  she 
cried,  "they'll  listen  ter  me.  I'll  tell 

[19] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

'em  how  good  ye  air,  an*  all  about  meetin' 
ye  here  in  Lost  Meadow  when  I  'd  come 
fer  the  cows,  an'  make  'em  see  it  all  jest 
ez  I  do.  An',  Nath,"  she  went  on,  look- 
ing away  into  the  deepening  shadows, 
"I'll  tell  'em  how  I've  learned  ter  keer 
fer  ye  so.  They  hev  always  been  so  good 
an'  kind  ter  me,  maybe  they  will  quit 
hatin'  ye,  jest  fer  my  sake.  Oh!  ef  I 
kin  only  make  'em  know  that  ye  air  not 
bad,  an'  make  'em  like  ye,  then  there  '11 
be  no  more  feuds  an'  no  more  fightin', 
never!" 

"Will  ye  do  all  that  fer  me,  Bettie?" 
he  inquired,  while  a  great  happiness  came 
upon  him.  Then  a  sickening  doubt  slowly 
crept  into  his  soul.  He  caught  her  hand 
in  his  as  if  to  keep  her  near  him  always. 
If  they  knew,  would  she  ever  come  again  ? 
he  thought.  Then  dreary  forebodings 
seized  and  possessed  him,  while  he  looked 
away  in  dreamy  sadness  and  gazed  where 

[20] 


the  path  loses  itself  in  the  rhododendron 
and  the  laurel.  In  fancy,  as  of  old,  he 
was  waiting,  waiting  for  her  coming.  No 
sweet  voice  waked  the  echoes  of  the  silent 
woods  or  summoned  the  kine  in  the  melo- 
dious, plaintive  call  of  the  mountains; 
no  beloved  form  moved  along  the  deserted, 
brier-grown  path.  Still  he  waited  and 
and  watched,  while  the  shades  of  the  long 
twilight  crept  across  Lost  Meadow,  and 
swept  over  the  old  cabin;  then  twilight 
faded  into  gloaming;  then  the  unutterable 
loneliness  of  sable-winged  night. 

He  turned  upon  her  with  sad,  question- 
ing gaze,  then  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
"  Bettie,"  he  cried,  in  nameless  fear,  "some- 
how I  'm  afeard  fer  ye  ter  leave  me. 
I  'm  afeard  they  will  never  let  ye  come 
again." 


[21] 


CHAPTER  III 

NIGHT  came  on,  and,  with  the  falling 
of  the  shadows,  black,  forbidding 
clouds  came  trooping  across  the  ridges 
and  hovered  above  the  valley.  The  stars 
went  out  and  the  moon  showed  dim  and 
obscure  beneath  the  blackening,  shifting 
folds  of  the  coming  storm.  Fragrant 
blended  odours,  torn  from  the  redolent 
wild-wood,  drifted  sweet  upon  the  scurry- 
ing, fitful  gusts  of  wind  ;  then  the  trees 
began  to  sway  and  bend  to  the  breeze, 
while  the  rasping  rhythm  of  the  katydids 
ceased  with  the  hush  of  the  growing  gale. 
Flashes  of  lightning,  cleaving  the  darkened 
skies,  shot  straight  to  earth  and  peals  of 
deep-voiced  thunder  bayed  the  helpless 
vale  and  died  away  far  across  the  ranges 
to  the  west. 

[22] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Bettie  Taylor  sat  in  the  shelter  of  the 
porch,  alone  and  silent,  gazing  with  unsee- 
ing eyes  out  into  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
away  toward  the  lonely  meadow  in  the 
east. 

Her  determination  to  tell  all  still  lay 
strong  within  her,  and  she  meant  that  the 
coming  day  should  not  find  her  secret 
unrevealed.  Yet,  with  the  crucial  moment 
drawing  near  at  hand,  she  had  sought  the 
seclusion  of  the  shadowy  porch,  where  the 
subtle,  mysterious  influence  of  the  dark- 
some night  made  her  linger,  hesitating 
and  doubtful,  in  the  dread  uncertainty 
of  it  all.  Finally,  she  rose  to  her  feet  with 
sudden  resolve,  then  leaned  in  indecision 
against  the  dampening  weather  boards. 
A  light,  quivering  for  a  moment  along  the 
blackened  skies,  showed  a  little  face  pale 
with  emotion  and  eyes  staring  pensively 
away  into  the  gloom. 

Within,  Mace  Taylor,  moody  and  sul- 
[23] 


len,  dozed  for  a  while  in  his  chair;  then 
the  odour  of  strong  tobacco  drifting  through 
the  open  door  told  Bettic  that  he  was 
astir  again. 

"Whar's  the  gal?"  he  bluntly  inquired 
in  tones  of  petulance,  tempered  with  some 
show  of  interest. 

"I  reckon  she  air  abed,"  answered  a 
soothing,  feminine  voice. 

"Gals  haint  wuth  a  damn  nohow  these 
days,  a-layin'  abed  an*  a-sleepin'  etarnally," 
he  complained. 

"Hank,  yer  hain't  got  no  call  ter  say  that 
word.  The  gal  hev  been  a-holpin'  about 
ther  house,  an'  a-goin'  arter  ther  cows,  an* 
sech,  ther  livelong  day;  an'  then  she  hain't 
a-lookin'  ez  peart  ez  common  nohow." 

This  in  mild  protest  from  the  wife  and 
mother,  then  silence  fell  again,  while  Mace, 
with  his  head  resting  upon  the  back  of 
his  chair,  sat  puffing  away  and  staring 
vacantly  upward. 

[24] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

After  a  while  he  rose,  thirsty  and  rest- 
less, and  made  his  way  to  the  door,  where 
he  turned,  hesitatingly,  and  faced  his 
wife. 

"Ye  don't  reckon  the  gal  could  hev 
hearn  me,  do  ye,  'Cilia?"  he  began,  in  a 
voice  of  mild  contrition.  "  I  war  n't  a-aimin' 
ter  say  sech  a  word  agin  the  gal.  I  war 

jest  pestered  about  that  thar  infernal " 

The  sentence  died  unfinished  upon  his 
lips,  and  the  gleam  of  the  old  hate  faded 
from  his  eyes  as  his  gaze  rested  upon 
Priscilla's  gentle  face,  all  aglow  with  a 
meek,  remissive  smile. 

"Why,  Mace,"  she  championed,  with 
an  air  of  pride,  "I  know  ye  air  a-layin' 
ez  much  store  by  Bettie  ez  ye  air  by  me 
er  Andy,  an'  fer  that  matter  the  gal  could  n't 
hev  hearn  ye,  nohow." 

"It  air  a-stormin'  powerful,"  he  ven- 
tured in  irrelevance,  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold  and  passed  into  the  shadows  of 

bsl 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

the  porch.  Groping  his  way  toward  the 
water  shelf,  his  eyes  became  accustomed 
to  the  gloom  without,  then  he  caught  the 
dim  outline  of  a  human  form.  "Air  that 
ye,  Andy  ?"  he  quickly  demanded. 

Bettie  did  not  answer,  but  filled  the 
gourd  from  the  cedar  pail,  and  passed  it, 
trembling,  to  her  lips. 

"Who  air  ye,  I  say,'*  challenged  Mace, 
in  tones  of  ominous  warning. 

"It 's  jest  me,  daddy,"  came  the  simple 
answer.  "Air  ye  a-wantin*  a  drink?" 
she  added,  again  dipping  the  gourd  into 
the  water,  then  holding  it  toward  the  man. 

"I  'lowed  ye  war  a-bed,"  he  concluded 
questioningly,  as  his  hand  searched  the 
gloom  for  the  cooling  draught.  He  drank 
long  and  deep,  then  with  a  sigh  of  content, 
turned  toward  the  open  door. 

"Daddy,  I  want  ter  tell  ye  something" 
came  from  the  girl  in  tremulous,  quavering 
tones,  as  she  caught  his  sleeve  and  drew 

[26] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

him  gently  to  the  light.  There  her  arms 
reached  up  and  rested  confidingly  upon  his 
massive  chest,  and  her  eyes  questioningly 
searched  deep  into  his  own;  while  his 
breath,  hot  with  the  odour  of  strong  drink, 
swept  over  her  tense,  pallid  face.  The 
sight  was  not  a  reassuring  one,  for,  hesi- 
tating and  with  wavering  courage,  she 
sought  first  to  put  his  affections  to  the 
test.  "Daddy,"  she  timidly  faltered,  "do 
ye  love  me?" 

His  face  lit  up  with  a  kindly  smile, 
then  some  strange  vagary  of  his  hate- 
bedimmed  brain  sent  a  fierce,  wild  light 
gleaming  in  his  eyes. 

;<Yes,"  came  slowly  from  the  drink- 
fevered  lips,  "I  love  ye,  gal,  more  than  I 
hate  the  breed." 

He  felt  her  arms  grow  suddenly  heavy 
and  tighten  about  his  neck,  while  the 
sound  of  a  suppressed  sigh  mingled  feebly 
with  the  gathering  storm. 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"  Daddy,"  she  faltered,  in  a  pleading  yet 
censorious  voice,  "ye  air  too  good  ter  be 
always  a-hatin' " 

"  I  hed  words  ter  day  with  Tom  Gentry," 
he  interrupted  with  a  contemptuous  smile, 
"an  ther  white-livered  dog  tuk  ter  his 
heels." 

"Tell  me  about  it,  won't  ye,  Daddy?" 
came  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  anxiety  from 
the  bloodless  lips. 

For  a  while  he  did  not  answer,  but  stood 
gazing  vacantly  into  her  troubled  face. 

"Sech  things  air  not  fer  women's  ears," 
he  concluded,  in  tones  of  finality,  then, 
turning  again  toward  the  water  shelf,  he 
added,  "go  ter  bed,  ye  air  ailin'." 


[28] 


CHAPTER  IV 

gloom  of  night  lingered  far  into 
•*-  the  tardy  morn.  Gray,  heavy- 
laden  clouds,  obscuring  for  a  moment  the 
green  of  the  distant  peaks,  slowly  trooped 
across  the  misty  vale;  while  the  sun,  hang, 
ing  dim  in  the  lowering  heavens,  loomed 
like  a  befogged  beacon,  elusive  and 
lustreless. 

As  was  the  custom  at  such  a  seasonable 
time,  the  early  hours  of  the  murky  day 
found  a  gossiping  crowd  of  farmers  gathered 
at  Jennings's  Cross  Roads,  to  while  away 
the  forced  leisure  of  wet  weather;  and  the 
low-hanging  limbs  of  the  great  oaks  and 
aged  elms  to  the  north  of  old  Steve  Jen- 
nings's store  served  as  a  hitching  place  for 
many  a  mud-bespattered  horse. 

Steve's  was  a  famous  meeting  place,  as 
[29] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

well  as  dispensary  of  all  kinds  and  descrip- 
tions of  wares  and  merchandize,  while  a 
small  sign,  almost  obliterated  with  the 
wear  of  age,  proclaimed,  in  characters  of 
questionable  symmetry,  the  fact  that  a 
post-office  of  the  United  States  was  located 
within.  In  fine,  Steve's  was  a  place 
where  men  loved  to  loiter  in  the  soothing 
content  of  a  good  excuse.  The  social 
pleasures  of  the  cross-roads,  coupled  with 
old  Steve's  open-hearted  hospitality,  were 
well-nigh  irresistible.  Weekly  newspapers 
and  an  occasional  letter  gave  ground  for 
many  a  useless  journey  from  distant  homes, 
and,  with  the  additional  excuse  of  wet 
weather,  the  male  contingent  of  the  entire 
countryside  had  ridden  from  far  and  near 
and  was  congregated  in  and  about  Steve 
Jennings's  store,  swapping  the  latest  gossip 
of  the  day;  or,  in  lieu  of  something  better, 
threadbare  jokes  of  past  ages  were  going 
their  weary  round  of  simulated  mirth. 

[30! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Every  chair  and  box  in  the  place  bore 
its  human  burden,  and  the  conversation 
had  reached  that  state  of  perfect  enjoy- 
ment when  every  fellow  who  cared  to  wield 
a  knife  was  destroying  all  the  soft  pine 
obtainable. 

Old  Steve  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
pushed  his  spectacles  far  up  on  his  sparsely 
covered  head,  and,  taking  a  searching  look 
into  the  east,  commented  adversely  on  the 
weather,  and,  much  to  the  comfort  and 
approval  of  his  hearers,  prognosticated  a 
steady  downpour  of  rain  for  several  days 
to  come.  He  then  fixed  his  eyes  upon  an 
object  far  down  the  muddy  road.  "Boys," 
he  drawled,  "that  thar  roan  a-comin' 
looks  powerful  like  Mark  Tilly's  big  filly, 
Kate." 

At  this  observation  all  eyes  searched  the 

road;  and  Pete  Jenkins,  between  whittles 

and  with  gravity,  "lowed  ez  ef  et  war  not 

Mark   an*   his   filly,   et  war   a   thunderin' 

[31] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

good  imitation."  Another  lazily  opined 
that  the  "gait  of  the  crittur  put  him  in 
mind  of  Lew  Mason's  roan  pacer,  Dan." 
This  speculation  on  the  identity  of  horse 
and  rider  was  soon  put  at  rest  when  Mark's 
mount  quickened  her  pace  and  galloped 
up  at  almost  full  speed. 

Mark's  anxious  look  and  important  air 
gave  notice  that  he  bore  news  of  more 
than  passing  interest.  He  quickly  dis- 
mounted, and  throwing  the  reins  over  a 
convenient  post,  made  his  way  to  the  centre 
of  the  expectant  group.  Peering  cautiously 
around,  he  inquired  in  a  low,  anxious 
voice:  "Boys,  hev  ye  seen  anything  of 
Mace  Taylor  or  Tom  Gentry?" 

Though  these  warring  clans  had  been  at 
peace  for  almost  a  generation,  the  ominous 
import  of  that  simple  inquiry  turned  their 
weather-beaten  faces  from  quiet  interest 
to  thoughtful  gravity.  Old  Steve's  face 
was  the  picture  of  solicitude  and  misgiving 

[32] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

as  he  answered  Mark's  query  in  the  nega- 
tive. He  crowded  close  in  on  the  speaker. 
"Anything  gone  wrong?  Air  they  at  it 
agin  arter  all  these  long  years  ? "  he  asked 
solemnly. 

"I'm  afeard,"  Mark  answered,  "thar's 
trouble  ahead,  onless  ye  boys  holpe  me  ter 
stop  it.  Hell 's  apt  ter  break  loose  hyar 
any  minute."  He  gravely  shook  his  head, 
searched  the  road  in  both  directions,  then 
continued:  "Fellers,  it  air  this  way:  Mace 
an'  Tom  rid  up  ter  my  shop  yistiddy 
evenin'.  They  come  from  different  direc- 
tions, an'  reached  the  shop  nigh  'bout  the 
same  time,  but  Tom  war  a  leetle  ahead  of 
Mace.  I  war  a-settin'  a  tire,  an'  Tom,  he 
lit  an'  tied,  thinkin'  he  'd  hev  ter  wait  a 
spell,  an'  Mace  he  rid  up  close  ter  me  an' 
'lowed  his  nag  had  throwed  a  shoe,  and 
he  'd  like  ter  hev  one  tacked  on  in  a  hurry." 

At  this  point  in  the  narrative,  Mark's 
face  took  on  a  more  serious  expression. 

(33l 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Pushing  his  hat  far  back  on  his  massive 
head,  he  walked  silently  to  the  edge  of  the 
porch,  spat  an  amazing  quantity  of  tobacco 
juice  into  the  muddy  road,  shifted  his 
quid  from  one  cheek  to  the  other,  then 
continued:  "Boys,  right  thar  is  whar  the 
trouble  set  in.  I  left  the  job  I  war  a-workin' 
on,  an*  war  a  sizin'  up  the  crittur's  hoof, 
when  I  recollected  ez  how  Tom  war  a 
leetle  ahead  of  Mace.  I  then  says,  'I 
reckon  Tom  air  entitled  to  the  right  of  way. 
Ye  boys  know  my  rule  —  fust  come,  fust 
served/  " 

"Wall, Tom  untied  his  crittur  an*  brung 
her  'round.  Mace  looked  powerful  sulky 
an*  'lowed  thet  Tom  Gentry  war  n't 
a-thinkin'  of  a  shoe  for  his  damned  old 
pony  'till  he  found  out  he  war  in  a  hurry. 
Tom's  face  turned  ez  red  ez  that  bandanna 
hank'chef.  He  looked  Mace  over  from  top 
ter  bottom  an'  leaned  up  agin  the  shop, 
not  say  in'  narry  word. 

(341 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Right  thar  the  trouble  would  hev  ended, 
but  ye  know  Mace  war  right  smart  teched 
with  liquor,  an*  more  quarrelsome  than 
common.  He  said  ter  me  —  loud  'nough 
fer  Tom  ter  hear  him:  'Mark,  the  mangy 
breed  of  Gentrys  air  all  the  same.  They 
want  ter  hev  their  own  damn  way  'bout 
everything/  Boys,  them  war  his  very 
words! 

"Tom  flinched  like  ez  ef  Mace  hed  lashed 
him  with  a  whup;  his  eyes  war  a-flashin' 
same  as  diamonds;  an'  his  face  war  turned 
sickly  like  an'  white. 

"Ye  fellows  all  know  that  hell  air 
about  ter  pop  when  one  of  them  good- 
natured  Gentrys  air  worked  up  ter  sech 
a  pitch.  Wall,  yer  know  I  think  a  power- 
ful lot  of  both  them  boys,  an'  when  I  see 
things  a-comin'  ter  sech  a  pass,  I  goes  up 
ter  Mace  sorter  soothin'  like.  I  says 
ter  him,  si  'Mace,  ye  know  I  lay  a  heap  'o 
store  by  both  ye  boys,  an'  I  hain't  a-goin' 

[351 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

ter  take  sides  with  nobody,  but  I  tell  ye 
ez  a  frien'  thet  ye  air  in  the  wrong.  Let 's 
don't  hev  no  trouble,  case  thar  hain't  nothin* 
happened  fer  ter  cause  any  trouble.  Tom 
got  hyar  fust,  an*  it  air  his  right  ter  be  fust 
served.' 

"Boys,  it  war  no  use!  Mace  Taylor 
hed  the  Old  Nick  in  him,  an'  Tom  standin' 
thar  a-leanin'  up  agin'  the  shop  with  his 
arms  folded,  starin'  so  quiet  like  and  peace- 
ful, 'peared  ter  make  him  madder  'n  ever. 
He  told  me  ter  mind  my  own  blamed  busi- 
ness; thet  it  made  no  differ  ter  me  whose 
crittur  war  shod,  long  ez  I  got  paid;  that 
ef  any  shoein'  war  a-goin'  ter  be  done,  he 
reckoned  it  would  n't  be  nobody's  crittur 
but  his  n'  an'  he  'd  see  the  whole  clique 
of  Gentrys  in  hell  afore  he  'd  wait  a 
minute  on  any  of  the  breed. 

"Boys,  I  never  expect  ter  see  another 
man  look  like  Tom  Gentry  when  Mace 
Taylor  said  that  word.  I  sorter  stepped 

[361 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

ter  one  side,  thinkin'  he  'd  open  up  on  Mace; 
but  instead  of  fightin',  he  commences  ter 
talk,  jest  ez  cool  and  quiet  ez  if  he  war 
a  teachin'  of  a  Sunday  School. 

"He  says,  'Mace  Taylor,  I  don't  believe 
it  air  right  ter  be  etarnally  a-fightin'  an* 
a-killin'!  I  been  a-tryin'  ter  live  peaceful 
an*  not  disturb  nobody,  but  thar  air  some 
insults  that  a  man  darse  n't  take  ef  he  means 
ter  hold  up  his  head,  an'  look  his  neigh- 
bours in  the  face.  What  yer  been  a-sayin' 
air  more'n  any  mortal  man  ought  ter 
stand.  Ye  been  a-drinkin'  hard.  Ye  hev 
said  what  ye  darse  n't  say  when  ye  air 
sober.  A  minute  ago,  I  hed  a  mind  ter 
kill  ye,  but  I  don't  aim  ter  harm  any 
man  whilst  he  's  full  of  liquor.  Thar  's 
a-goin'  ter  be  a  day  of  reckoning!  I  give 
ye  fair  warning — that,  when  ye  git  sobered 
up,  an'  in  yer  right  mind,  ye  better  come 
ter  me  an'  take  back  what  ye  said.  Ef 
ye  don't,  an'  ye  ever  trouble  me  agin,  I  'm 

(37) 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

a-goin'  ter   put  ye  whar  ye  can't    pester 
nobody.' 

"This  made  Mace  so  bilin'  mad,  thet  he 
war  a-reachin'  fer  his  six-shooter,  when 
I  grabbed  him  an'  throwed  him  on  the 
ground.  He  ripped  an'  snorted  an'  swore 
he  'd  kill  every  Gentry  in  Twilight  Valley, 
an'  me  too  ef  I  did  n't  let  him  up. 

"Whilst  I  war  a-holdin'  of  him  thar, 
Tom  says:  'Mark,  I  'm  afeard  ef  I  stay 
round  hyar  much  longer  I  '11  be  'bleeged 
ter  put  this  infernal  fool  out  'n  his  misery. 
I  've  stood  all  I  mean  ter  stand!' 

"I  held  Mace  till  Tom  passed  out  of 
sight  over  the  hill,  then  I  let  him  up,  an', 
by  the  Etarnal,  it  war  about  all  I  could 
do  ter  keep  out  'n  a  fracas  with  Mace 
fer  a-holdin'  of  him.  Wall,"  he  concluded, 
"it  happened  jest  ez  I  been  a-tellin'  ye; 
an'  I  'm  a-hopin'  the  boys  '11  hev  sort  of  a 
coolin'  spell  afore  they  come  tergether 
agin." 

[38] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Old  Steve  had  listened  thoughtfully  to 
Mark's  every  word,  and  at  every  pause 
in  the  narrative  had  turned  to  gaze 
with  evident  anxiety  up  and  down  the 
road.  When  Mark  concluded,  he  motioned 
him  to  one  side.  "Mark,"  he  gravely 
began,  "ef  Tom  Gentry  air  alive  and 
able  ter  be  about,  he  will  be  hyar  at  the 
cross-roads  ter-day!  He  gin  me  his  word 
he  'd  come  an'  pay  his  store  debt,  an*  I  hev 
never  hearn  tell  of  him  a-breakin'  his 
word  ter  nobody.  It  air  more  'n  likely 
Mace  Taylor  '11  ride  over  too,  bein'  it 
air  a  rainin'  and  sech." 


l39l 


CHAPTER  V 

~T\OWN  the  valley  the  dawn  was  break- 
-•— *  ing  in  dreary  prophetic  gloom. 

The  night  had  not  been  a  peaceful  one 
for  Tom  Gentry.  Fantastic  and  bloody 
dreams  had  broken  his  rest;  then  waking 
with  a  start,  he  had  lain  quietly  thinking, 
thinking  through  the  desolate,  weary  hours, 
listening  to  the  incessant  patter  of  the  rain 
upon  the  oaken  shakes  above  him,  till  the 
measured  striking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantel 
gave  notice  that  the  break  of  day  was  close 
at  hand. 

As  he  reached  for  the  door  and  was  about 
to  quit  the  room,  he  turned  as  the  gray 
light  of  dawn,  breaking  in  the  misty  east, 
showed  him  the  gentle  face  of  his  sleeping 
wife,  tranquil  and  at  peace.  He  paused 
in  the  shadows  and  gazed  upon  the  placid, 

M, 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

upturned  face,  while  a  mysterious  tender- 
ness flooded  his  generous  soul  and  lit  his 
strong,  kind  face  with  a  benign,  ethereal 
light.  Then,  with  cautious,  gentle  tread, 
he  crossed  to  the  bedside.  Tom  felt  a 
great  pride  in  his  ponderous  strength  and 
her  clinging  dependence  upon  him,  and, 
as  he  bent  over  her  unconscious  form,  a 
heavy  burden  of  solicitude  and  fear  weighed 
upon  his  soul. 

"Poor  little  Mollie,"  he  softly  murmured, 
as  he  turned  hesitatingly  away.  Then  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  and,  cautiously  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  him,  passed  beneath 
the  dripping  eaves  of  the  porch,  out 
into  the  gloomy  day.  He  pulled  his 
hat  low  over  his  eyes,  and  heedless 
of  the  drizzling  rain,  made  his  way 
along  the  path  toward  the  little  barn- 
yard. Reaching  the  enclosure,  he  paused 
in  deep  thought,  and,  resting  his  arms 
on  the  low  gate,  stood  gazing  through 

[41! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

the  mist  and  rain  off  toward  the  light 
in  the  east. 

The  landscape  was  murky  and  gray 
with  the  ceaseless  drizzle;  fleecy  mist  hung 
in  uneven  shifting  wreaths  upon  the  brow 
of  the  distant  mountains,  and  thin,  downy 
vapours  nestled  close  under  the  nearby 
ridges,  obscuring  them  in  a  veil  of  gauze. 

For  some  time  Tom  remained  silent 
and  meditative,  his  face  clouding  with  a 
look  of  sad  regret ;  then  his  troubled  brain 
found  some  measure  of  comfort  in  a  desul- 
tory soliloquy: 

"And  so,  it  air  come  at  last.  I  hoped 
and  prayed  it  would  never  come.  Fightin* 
air  not  ter  my  likin'.  I  ain't  a-wantin'  ter 
do  nobody  any  hurt.  I  ain't  never  held 
it  up  agin  Mace  'case  his  folks  hev  misused 
mine.  It  war  not  Mace  ez  done  it.  Afore 
yesterday  I  would  hev  even  done  Mace 
Taylor  a  good  turn." 

HereJxe:  stopped  and  shifting  his  position, 
M 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

he  gravely  shook  his  head  and  continued: 
"It  air  a  pity  we  can't  all  live  in  peace  ez 
God  intended.  I  know  the  Taylor  ways, 
an*  it  air  sure  ez  daylight  that  Mace  Taylor 
air  a-aimin'  ter  kill  me.  I  Ve  prayed  ter 
God  never  ter  put  me  whar  I  'm  'bleeged 
ter  take  the  life  of  any  human  bein'.  I  'd 
mighty  nigh  ez  soon  be  kilt  ez  ter  hev  ter 
kill  a  man,  but  it  air  a  man's  call  ter  guard 
his  life  fer  them  as  needs  him;  an'  then 
life  air  sweet  ter  me,  an  good  enough  ter 
keep  at  any  cost." 

He  paused  in  thoughtful  silence,  while 
a  strange  light  came  into  his  eyes,  like  the 
unexpected  flash  of  a  danger  signal.  "God 
knows,  I  ain't  a-wantin'  no  trouble,"  he 
continued  in  a  low,  earnest  voice,  "but,  ef 
it  comes  ter  a  show-down,  I  reckon  I  kin 
take  keer  of  myself  agin  any  Taylor  ez 
ever  lived." 

"I  gin  my  promise  ter  Steve  Jennings 
ez  how  I  'd  pay  him  ter-day,  an'  I  Jm 
[43] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

a-goin'  ter  keep  my  word.     Well  —  ef  I 
hurt  anybody,  it  '11  be  case  I  'm  'bleeged 


ter." 


He  was  roused  from  his  gloomy  medita- 
tions by  sounds  of  life  from  the  house, 
then  Nath  joined  him  in  the  morning's 
homely  tasks. 

He  was  quick  to  detect  something  strange 
and  unusual  in  his  father's  manner,  and 
silently  watched  him  with  increasing  anxiety. 
"Daddy,"  he  finally  ventured,  "what  ails 
ye,  air  anything  gone  wrong?" 

A  forced  smile  lit  his  kind  face.  "  Every- 
thing Js  tiptop,  Sonny.  Ye  don't  want  yer 
Dad  ter  be  a-hollerin'  an'  a-laughin' 
etarnally,  do  ye?" 

Tom's  voice  lacked  the  ring  of  truth, 
and  Nathan  knew  it.  He  made  no  answer, 
but  fixed  his  anxious,  questioning  gaze 
upon  the  other's  face.  Then  the  mirth 
died  away,  and  an  expression  of  serious 
gravity  clouded  Tom's  face. 
[44] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Ter  tell  the  truth,  my  boy,"  he  haz- 
arded, "I  be  a-owin'  a  right  smart  sum  ter 
old  Steve  Jennings,  an'  he  *s  a-pressin' 
me  a  bit." 

This  white  lie,  told  with  ill-becoming 
grace,  stung  Tom's  conscience  no  little, 
but  served  the  purpose  of  silencing  further 
inquiry. 

The  two  completed  their  work,  and, 
as  they  reached  the  threshold  of  the  little 
dwelling,  Tom  paused,  and  facing  Nath, 
laid  his  hands  affectionately,  and  with 
unusual  gentleness,  upon  his  shoulders. 
He  looked  long  and  lovingly  into  the 
upturned,  inquiring  face,  then  flushed  in 
confusion  as  he  struggled  for  mastery  of 
his  emotions. 

"Nath,"  he  finally  ventured,  in  a  low 
voice  and  regarding  the  other  critically, 
"ye  air  nigh  a  man.  I  'm  a-layin'  lots  of 
store  by  ye,  my  son;  an*  ef  anything  ever 
goes  wrong  with  yer  daddy,  remember, 
Us! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

I  'm  expectin'  ye  ter  look  arter  yer  mammy, 
an5  keer  fer  her  ez  long  ez  she  lives." 

Nath  was  troubled  and  bewildered  by 
his  father's  unaccountable  conduct,  and 
hastened  with  many  a  manly  promise  to 
set  his  mind  at  rest.  "Daddy,"  he  said 
with  a  smile,  "I  reckon  me  and  mammy 
would  n't  keer  much  about  livin'  without 
ye  war  with  us." 

The  well-seasoned  breakfast  had  no 
charm  for  Tom.  He  sat  through  the  meal 
with  feigned  cheerfulness,  and  rose  early 
from  his  chair.  Then  he  lingered  about 
the  threshold,  silent  and  restless,  till,  with 
sudden  impulse,  he  called  a  hasty  good- 
bye to  Nath  and,  followed  by  his  wife, 
made  his  way  to  the  little  porch. 

There,  alone,  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
and,  pressing  her  to  his  aching  heart,  held 
her  there. 

Though  always  affectionate  and  kind, 
Tom  Gentry  was  seldom  demonstrative. 

[46] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

He  loved  Molly  and  his  sturdy  son  with 
all  the  fervour  of  his  generous  soul,  yet 
the  occasions  were  rare  indeed  when  he 
openly  declared  himself.  Words  of  affec- 
tion from  him  were  to  her  precious  jewels, 
to  be  carefully  stored  away  in  memory's 
treasure-box.  None  were  ever  lost  or 
forgotten,  and  her  contracted  and  narrow 
sphere  of  existence  was  broadened  and 
beautified  by  sacred  memories  of  his  every 
loving  word  and  deed. 

"Molly,"  he  began,  his  lips  quivering 
and  white,  "ye  air  the  best  little  wife  in 
all  the  wide  world.  Ye  hev  been  a  good 
girl  ter  me  an'  —  Molly  —  I  love  ye  more  'n 
I  did  when  I  first  told  ye  all  about  it.  Ye 
remember,  don't  ye,  down  by  the  spring 
that  day?" 

For  answer  the  old,  glad  light  of  youth 

came  into  her  eyes,  then  tears  of  joy  coursed 

their  crystal  way  upon  her  careworn  face, 

and  lost  themselves  in  the  folds  of  faded 

[47l 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

blue.  She  looked  up  with  a  smile.  !  'T  war 
in  June,"  she  murmured,  as  she  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him 
good-bye. 

He  quickly  mounted  his  horse,  and,  as 
he  passed  through  the  gate,  he  turned  in 
his  saddle  and  called  cheerily:  "Ye  will 
never  forget  that  day,  will  ye,  Molly  ? " 

Then  he  rode  swiftly  away  and  was  soon 
lost  to  sight  in  the  turn  of  the  road. 

Long  after  he  had  rounded  the  bend, 
she  stood  silently  watching  the  road.  Her 
face  bore  the  expression  of  one  wrapped 
in  the  sweet  calm  of  a  beauteous  dream. 
The  eyes  were  sparkling  with  the  love- 
light  of  old  and  the  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  the  warmth  of  a  great  happiness. 


[48] 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  SCORE  of  times  old  Steve  had 
made  his  way  to  the  little  porch, 
and  anxiously  scanned  the  murky  road. 
Mark,  with  his  chair  tilted  back  against 
the  weather  boards,  kept  a  constant  look- 
out for  approaching  horsemen.  Through 
the  rift  in  the  woods  to  the  east  appeared 
a  horse  and  rider,  instantly  recognized 
by  both  as  Mace  Taylor  and  his  big  bay. 
Mace  approached  in  a  slow  canter,  and 
drew  rein  in  front  of  the  store.  He  peered 
anxiously  at  the  men  assembled  on  the 
porch,  then  glanced  in  the  direction  of 
the  horses  tied  beneath  the  trees. 

"Hi,  boys,"  he  called  in  tones  of  absent- 
minded  indifference,  as  he  turned  his  horse 
and  rode  beneath  the  oaks.  He  dis- 
mounted and  was  tying  the  reins  to  a  hang- 

[49] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

ing  limb  when  he  was  joined  by  Steve 
and  Mark. 

"Mace,"  said  Steve  in  a  low,  anxious 
voice,  "me  and  Mark  would  like  a  word 
with  you-uns.  Mark  has  been  a-tellin' 
me  about  ye  an'  Tom  Gentry.  Now,  I 
don't  want  ye  ter  think  I  'm  a-tryin*  ter 
meddle  in  you-uns'  affairs.  I  hev  knowed 
ye  an'  Tom  all  yer  life,  and  yer  daddies 
afore  ye,  and  I  don't  want  ye  boys  ter  fall 
out  and  git  into  trouble  ez  long  ez  it  kin 
be  helped.  Ye  both  air  family  men,  and 
ye  air  got  women  folks  ter  look  arter. 
Besides,  thar  hain't  nothin'  ter  be  gained, 
nohow,  by  neighbours  a-fallin'  out  and 
a-nghtin'.  Now,  Mace,"  he  continued, 
as  he  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and 
gazed  into  his  stolid,  drink-dulled  features, 
"Tom  Gentry  air  more 'n  likely  ter  ride 
over  this  mornin'  ter  settle  a  leetle  store 
debt  he's  a-owin'  me;  and  I  wish  ye  would 
get  yer  papers  and  sech  and  jest  ride  on 

M 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

back,  like  ez  ef  ye  war  in  a  hurry  fur  ter 
git  home.  The  boys  all  know  ye  hain't 
afeard  of  nothin',  and  hit  '11  more  'n 
likely  save  a  powerful  lot  of  trouble  ef  ye 
and  Tom  '11  jest  keep  away  from  one 
another  fer  a  spell.  Remember,"  he 
added,  in  hopeless  earnestness,  "ye  hev 
got  a  wife  and  chillun  ter  kere  fer." 

The  effect  of  the  liquor  had  left  Mace 
heavy-headed  and  disagreeable.  An 
appeal  to  his  better  nature  was  ill-timed 
and  useless.  As  old  Steve  looked  into  his 
blood-shot  eyes  and  flushed,  angry  counte- 
nance, he  knew  that  Mace  Taylor  was 
fatally  bent  on  mischief. 

Mace  looked  toward  the  group  on  the 
porch,  peering  at  him  in  ill-concealed 
curiosity;  then  at  the  blacksmith,  and 
addressing  Steve,  he  began,  "Steve,  I 
know  ye  air  a  friend  of  mine,  an*  I  know 
ye  mean  well.  I  hain't  so  sure  'bout 
Mark.  Thar  hain't  no  use  of  me  a-leavin' 

[51! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

'case  thar  hain't  a-goin'  ter  be  no  trouble; 
an*  ef  ye  want  ter  know  the  reason,  I  '11  tell 
ye.  Tom  Gentry  air  a  damned  coward 
an'  I  reckon  Mark  Tilly  knows  it  ez  well 
ez  I  do.  He  air  a  white-livered  dog  an' 
I  'm  a-thinkin'  he  '11  lay  purty  close  ter 
home  fer  a  spell." 

Old  Steve  was  in  the  act  of  making 
reply,  when,  beyond  the  store  and  to  the 
west,  were  heard  the  unmistakable  sounds 
of  an  approaching  horse.  Some  one  drew 
rein  and  called  to  the  men  on  the  porch 
in  a  voice  of  feigned  cheerfulness:  "Hello, 
boys,  the  sun  don't  seem  ter  be  a-shinin' 
nowhar  ter-day!" 

Their  replies  seemed  to  Tom  Gentry  to 
lack  the  ring  of  cordiality.  He  read,  in 
their  solemn,  anxious  faces,  the  ominous 
answer  to  his  silent,  cautious  search. 

Some  one  softly  called:  "Look  out  fer 
yerself,  Tom!  Mace  Taylor  air  here  an' 
Hell's  in  him!" 

[52] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Tom  Gentry's  lips  whitened  and  red 
spots  came  in  his  cheeks,  while  a  terrible 
look  of  determination  followed  the  smile 
of  generous  friendship.  The  eyes  sparkled, 
and  the  firm  jaws  were  set  in  the  desperation 
of  hate ;  the  gentle,  lovable  personality  was 
engulfed  and  lost,  as  the  bitterness  of  the 
sanguinary  past  surged  through  his  heated 
brain.  All  the  gentleness  of  his  soul  was  at 
last  crowded  out,  and  he  was  now  the  intelli- 
gent, fighting  beast  —  alert  and  watchful. 

Glancing  quickly  around  him,  he  jumped 
from  his  horse  and  threw  the  reins  over 
the  handle  of  a  plough  propped  against 
a  pillar  of  the  porch.  His  right  hand, 
flew  swiftly  to  his  hip;  then  crouching  low 
he  reached  the  corner  of  the  building  and 
cautiously  peered  around.  The  deadly, 
bark  of  a  gun  was  heard,  and  a  splinter, 
clipped  from  a  post  close  to  his  head, 
struck  him  sharply  in  the  face,  followed 
by  a  tiny  stream  of  blood. 
[S3l 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Some  one  on  the  porch  cried  out:  "God, 
boys,  he  's  hit  bad  already!" 

Tom  stepped  back  out  of  range  and 
called  aloud:  "Mace,  air  ye  in  the  clear?" 

'Yes,  damn  yer,  but  ye  ain't!"  came 
from  the  direction  of  the  horses. 

Taking  his  antagonist  at  his  word,  he 
quickly  rounded  the  corner  into  the  open. 

A  sharp  report,  and  Tom's  hat  moved 
upon  his  head. 

"God  Almighty!"  came  from  the  porch, 
"what  ails  the  man!  He  hain't  fired  a  shot!" 

Gentry  was  advancing,  gun  in  hand, 
shifting  his  sight  in  a  desperate,  futile 
attempt  to  draw  a  bead.  "  Yer  low-lived 
traitor!"  he  cried,  as  a  leaden  missile 
shattered  his  left  forearm,  and  sent  the 
blood  trickling  from  his  hand. 

Off  to  the  right,  Old  Steve  yelled  out  — 
"Git  in  the  clear,  Mace  Taylor,  or  I'll 
drop  ye  in  yer  tracks,  ye  dog." 

Mace  heeded  not,  but  hovered  about 
[54] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

the  neck  of  his  frightened,  plunging  horse, 
cautiously  keeping  under  cover. 

Red  with  blood  and  with  the  desperation 
and  courage  of  a  wounded  grizzly  at  bay, 
with  set  face  and  staring  eyes,  Tom  Gentry 
charged  in  the  teeth  of  the  leaden  hail. 

A  report  off  to  the  right,  and  the  big 
bay  plunged  clear  of  his  bridle  and  made 
for  the  road,  leaving  a  crimson  trail. 
"Stay  in  the  open,  now,  or  —  so  help  me 
God  — I'll  kill  ye!"  cried  old  Steve. 

Tom,  now  almost  upon  his  foe,  paused 

—  steadied  himself  —  then  taking  deliber- 
ate aim,  fired. 

The  shot  went  home,  for  the  pallour  of 
death  crept  over  the  features  of  Mace 
Taylor.  He  reeled;  then  recovered  him- 
self; fired  his  last  shot  into  Tom's  breast 
at  so  close  a  range  as  to  burn  his  clothing; 
then  sank,  face  down,  upon  the  wet  earth 

—  to  rise  no  more. 

Tom   raised   his   weapon   as   if  to   fire 
Issl 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

again.  It  fell  from  his  nerveless  hand 
upon  the  crimson  earth.  He  staggered, 
then  moved  a  pace  or  two  as  one  in  a 
dream.  Steve  caught  him  as  he  sank  in 
the  scarlet  mire. 

"Boys,"  he  whispered,  "I  reckon  —  ez 
how  I  'm  done  —  for.  Steve  —  tell  her  — 
and  the  boy  —  ez  —  how  I  war  'bleeged 

—  ter  —  fight.     It  war  n't  ter  my  —  likin'. 
He  forced  —  me  ter  it.  —  Boys  —  I    want 

—  ter  —  see    Molly.  —  Can't   ye    fetch  — 
her  hyar  ?   Quick!  —  boys!  —  I  'm  —  afeard 

—  I  Jm  —  I  'm  a  —  a-goin." 

At  this  request,  two  of  the  men  started 
for  their  horses,  when  old  Steve  called  in 
a  soft,  sad  voice,  "Come  back,  boys,  come 
back.  'T  ain't  no  use  ter  fetch  nobody. 
It  air  too  late,  boys,  he  air  gone." 


[56] 


CHAPTER  VII 

LAUREL  FORK,  gushing  pure  from 
Nature's  filters  in  the  far-off,  lonely 
coves,  gathers  its  waters  from  the  dripping 
eaves  of  the  lofty  Cumberlands,  and  mur- 
murs onward  toward  the  fertile  meadows 
in  the  west.  Down  Twilight  Valley  it 
strays  and  wanders,  loath  to  leave  the 
cooling  shadows  of  the  sheltering  trees, 
then  breaks  the  continuity  of  the  dusty 
road,  where  jaded  cattle,  toiling  toward 
the  lowland  marts,  loiter  knee-deep,  beneath 
the  drooping  willows,  and  take  a  long, 
last  draught  of  its  limpid  sweetness. 

Near  the  ford  a  path  leads  from  the 
roadside,  and,  threading  its  course  through 
a  labyrinth  of  undergrowth  and  black- 
berry bushes,  ends  where  two  slender  logs 
thrown  parallel  across  the  stream,  and 
[57l 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

covered  by  unhewn  boards,  serve  the  pur- 
pose of  a  foot-bridge. 

About  midstream,  with  feet  dangling 
below  the  logs,  his  elbows  resting  on  his 
knees,  and  looking  down  into  the  pearly 
depths  of  the  water,  sat  a  young  man  of 
some  nineteen  strenuous,  active  years.  He 
was  well-proportioned  and  sinewy.  His 
gymnasium  had  been  the  open  air,  the 
axe,  the  whip,  and  the  gun,  and  the 
strength  of  the  young  ox  lay  visible 
in  the  muscles  of  his  big  shoulders 
and  brawny  forearms,  as  he  leaned  for- 
ward and  peered  into  the  crystal  deeps. 
Nature  had  done  much  for  him,  for  phys- 
ically he  was  far  beyond  his  years,  and 
good  to  look  upon.  To  the  casual  observer, 
he  might,  indeed,  have  appeared  the  picture 
of  rough,  masculine  beauty;  but  the  sin- 
ister expression  of  the  mouth,  and  the 
uneasy  restlessness  of  the  piercing  gray 
eyes,  would  have  arrested  the  attention 
[58] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

of  one  gifted  in  the  fine  art  of  reading  the 
souls  of  men  by  the  unerring  indices  of 
the  face.  Yet,  back  of  such  a  marring 
cloud  of  bitterness  and  hate,  the  same 
careful  observer  might  detect  the  bedimmed 
light  of  a  stifled  generosity,  and  lingering 
traces  of  an  overshadowed  kindness  of 
heart  —  the  forgotten  and  neglected  heri- 
tage of  gentle  maternity.  In  fine,  Andy 
Taylor  was  a  victim  of  the  unreasoning 
folly  of  generations  passed  away.  Cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  played  no  part, 
and  unfortunate  environment  from  birth, 
had  conspired  to  sour  and  embitter  his 
whole  nature.  Bloody  traditions  were  kept 
constantly  before  him  by  unthinking  gossips 
and  fireside  reminiscences  of  awful  deeds 
of  revenge  rang  forever  in  his  youthful 
ears,  tainting  the  blessed  memories  of 
childhood  with  the  black  poison  of  the 
feud.  Brooding  and  pondering  the  past, 
he,  silently  and  with  grim  resolve,  deter- 
[59] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

mined  on  deeds  of  desperation  for  the 
future.  The  principal  object  of  his  grow- 
ing hatred  was  Nath  Gentry,  whose  only 
wrong  —  yet  wrong  sufficient  —  lay  in  the 
ominous  fact  that  he  was  one  of  the  "breed/' 
and  Andy  meant  that  some  day  Nathan's 
life  should  close  the  accounts  between  the 
Taylors  and  the  Gentrys  forever. 

He  turned  and  glanced  at  the  sinking 
sun,  then  peered  through  the  foliage  down 
the  path  with  a  contemptuous,  evil  smile, 
and,  giving  expression  to  his  thoughts,  he 
slowly  mumbled:  ;<The  sun  air  nigh 
down.  The  boys  'lowed  he  'd  footed  it 
ter  Woodlie.  Ef  they  air  tellin'  the  truth, 
it  air  high  time  he  war  a-gettin'  back; 
an'  it  'pears  ter  me,  onless  he  air  turned 
mud-cat  or  water-dog,  this  air  his  only 
chance  ter  cross  the  crick."  This  bit  of 
logic  seemed  to  put  him  more  at  his  ease. 

Pushing  his  hat  far  back  on  his  head,  he 
was  in  the  act  of  settling  down  in  his  former 
[60] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

easy  position,  when  the  sound  of  some- 
thing moving  through  the  tangled  brush 
and  dry  leaves  on  the  river  bank,  arrested 
his  attention.  His  eyes  followed  intently 
the  direction  of  the  swiftly  moving  object 
until  it  reached  the  end  of  the  bridge:  then 
a  little  mongrel  jumped  upon  the  boards, 
and  catching  sight  of  the  man,  suddenly 
stopped  and  stood  gazing,  the  very  picture 
of  indecision  —  whether  to  turn  tail  and 
make  for  the  shelter  of  the  woods,  or 
parley  for  peace  and  friendship,  with  the 
odds  in  favour  of  flight. 

Andy  carefully  shifted  his  position,  and 
called  in  a  soft,  conciliatory  voice  —  so 
seductive  and  alluring  that  the  dog,  with 
a  half-scared,  crouching  gait,  his  ears 
laid  low  on  his  head,  his  tail  wagging  and 
body  twisting,  made  his  way  slowly  and 
with  unmistakable  evidences  of  suspicion, 
along  the  narrow  bridge.  Reaching  the 
man,  he  began  licking  his  hands  and 
[61] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

showing  every  good  intention  of  meeting 
the  young  rascal  more  than  half-way  in 
the  matter  of  making  friends. 

The  steel-gray  eyes  glanced  furtively  in 
the  direction  whence  the  dog  had  come; 
the  mouth  closed  over  the  teeth  in  a  hard, 
cold  line;  a  big,  heavily-shod  foot  shot 
cruelly  forth;  and  the  friendly  little  cur 
uttered  a  yelp  of  pain,  turned  sharply  in 
the  air,  and  disappeared  beneath  the  sur- 
face of  the  water. 

A  voice  sounded  from  the  trees,  "Shame 
on  ye,  Andy  Taylor!  Ef  I  'd  been  told,  I 
would  n't  hev  believed  ye  guilty  of  sech 
a  low-lived  trick.  I  never  hed  much  likin* 
fer  ye,  but  I  always  tuk  ye  ter  be  a  man, 
—  an*  a  brave  man  at  that."  Nath 
Gentry  moved  defiantly  along  the  narrow 
footing,  then  a  finer  purpose  stayed  his 
course:  "God  Almighty!"  he  cried  in  tones 
of  misgiving,  "tell  me,  Andy,  whut  made 
ye  do  it?" 

[62! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Wat,  for  so  the  dog  was  called,  paddled 
painfully  to  the  shore,  and  shaking  the 
water  from  his  coat  threw  himself,  yelping 
and  whining,  at  his  master's  feet. 

With  fast-gathering  wrath,  Nath  turned 
his  attention  to  the  dog;  and  stooping, 
passed  his  hands  carefully  over  his  legs 
and  body,  where  a  broken  rib  told  the 
silent  story  of  a  foul  and  treacherous  deed. 
Stroking  his  head,  he  spoke  words  of 
sympathy  and  encouragement,  which  the 
intelligent  little  beast  seemed  thoroughly 
to  understand  and  appreciate.  This  service 
at  an  end,  he  rose  and  faced  the  man  on 
the  bridge. 

Torn  by  conflicting  emotions  and  fighting 
for  mastery  of  self,  he  gazed  steadily  into 
Taylor's  eyes  as  if  to  search  the  inmost 
recesses  of  his  soul;  and,  in  a  voice  full  of 
regret,  misgiving,  and  stifled  anger,  he 
began:  "Andy,  I  hev  been  a-tryin'  power- 
ful hard  not  ter  lay  all  up  again  ye  what 
[63] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

yer  folks  hev  done  ter  me  an'  mine.  I 
warn't  a-hatin'  ye  afore  jest  now;  I  warn't 
a-hatin'  nobody,  but  I  'm  almost  a-hatin' 
ye  now." 

The  forced  and  unnatural  calmness  of  his 
voice  was  out  of  keeping  with  the  defiant 
and  righteous  flash  of  his  eye  and  the  flush 
of  suppressed  anger  in  his  glowing  face. 

Taylor  flinched  under  the  scorching  gaze 
fixed  upon  him.  No  answer  came  from 
his  burning  lips;  but  springing  to  his  feet, 
he  slowly  and  cautiously  approached  his 
adversary.  Self-assurance  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  superior  strength  overrode  all 
idea  of  effectual  resistance.  He  had  long  lain 
in  wait  for  his  quarry,  and,  with  the  crouch- 
ing movement  of  a  wild  beast  he  had 
reached  the  point  of  springing  upon  his 
prey,  when  an  indefinable  and  unaccount- 
able feeling  of  uneasiness  came  over  him. 
Something,  he  knew  not  what,  stayed  his 
arm,  and  warned  him  of  impending  danger. 
[64] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

He  read  before  him  in  the  gleaming  eyes 
and  firm-set  face  the  awful  story  of  genera- 
tions of  fierce  hatred  and  revenge  He 
hesitated,  then  stopped  short,  and,  as  if 
to  reassure  himself  and  feel  his  way  by  the 
use  of  words,  he  fairly  hissed:  "  Yer  damn 
varmint!  Ef  ye  hain't  a-wantin'  to  get  yer 
hide  soaked,  ye  better  take  ter  the  ford." 

"Andy  Taylor,"  came  from  Nath,  in 
a  calm,  slow  voice,  "ye  better  stop  whar 
ye  air.  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  give  ye  fair  warnin'. 
Ye  hev  tuk  a  notion  that  I  'm  afeard  of  ye. 
Ye  better  take  my  word  fer  it  —  that  I 
ain't."  He  paused  a  moment  as  if  expect- 
ing an  answer.  "I  want  ter  tell  ye  hyar 
and  now  —  never  ter  tech  me.  I  ain't 
a-wantin'  ter  do  ye  no  hurt,  an'  I  ain't 
a-wantin'  ter  hate  ye." 

This  declaration,  the  finer  motives  for 
which  were  beyond  the  understanding  of 
Andy,  provoked  a  contemptuous  smile  of 
disbelief. 

[6sl 


'ANDY  STOOD  IN  PUZZLED  BEWILDERMENT  " 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Nath,"  he  retorted,  "I  reckon  ye  air 
really  a-lovin'  me,  but  ye  air  one  of  a  breed 
of  pups  that  a  Taylor  always  likes  ter  drown. 
This  hyar  crossin'  air  a  speck  too  narrow 
ter  hold  a  Taylor  an'  a  Gentry.  Ef  ye 
air  goin'  ter  cross,  I  reckon  ye  'd  better  be  a 
leetle  keerful;  somebody  air  purty  tol'able 
sure  ter  git  a  duckin',  an*  it  hain't  a-goin' 
ter  be  a  Taylor,  I  'm  a-thinkin'." 

This  vitriolic  speech  proved  almost  too 
much  for  Nathan's  fortitude,  and  for- 
bearance. His  hands  clinched  nervously. 
His  handsome  young  face  turned  from  deep 
scarlet  to  death-like  pallor.  He  felt  the 
sting  of  being  the  first  of  his  name  to  suffer 
such  a  fling  to  go  unchallenged.  But  the 
memory  of  a  sweet,  girlish  face  with  implor- 
ing brown  eyes  searching  his  own,  and  a 
voice  pleading,  "Ye  won't  never  harm  'em, 
will  ye  ? "  stayed  his  hand,  as  the  blindness 
of  a  righteous  fury  swept  over  him. 

"Andy,"  he  began,  in  calm,  measured 
[66] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

tones,  "I  'm  a-goin'  ter  do  somethin'  thet, 
I  reckon,  a  Gentry  never  did  afore.  Thar 's 
a  good  reason,  an*  it  ain't  'case  I  'm  afeard 
of  ye.  My  folks  always  told  me  never 
ter  go  out  'n  my  way  fer  no  man  on  God's 
yearth,  but  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  do  it.  I  'm 
a-goin'  ter  cross  at  the  ford."  He  paused, 
while  into  his  eyes  came  the  strange,  wild 
light  of  an  animal  at  bay.  "Andy,  I  've 
tuk  all  I  kin  stand  from  ye,  an*  if  ye  follow 
me,  by  the  Etarnal,  I  mean  ter  kill  ye!" 
He  said  no  more,  but  turned  and  lifted  the 
wounded  dog  from  the  ground,  and  retrac- 
ing his  steps,  made  his  way  down  the  path 
around  by  the  road  to  the  ford,  then  waded 
knee-deep  through  the  chilly  waters. 

Andy  stood  still  in  puzzled  bewilderment. 
He  was  at  a  complete  loss  in  his  effort  to 
account  for  the  strange  behaviour  of  his 
would-be  antagonist.  He  had  witnessed 
many  boyish  fights  and  had  been  principal 
in  the  majority  of  them.  He  had  even 
[67] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

watched  the  deadly  embrace  of  reckless 
men  as  they  fought  to  a  finish.  He  could 
unerringly  mark  the  coward  early  in  the 
game,  and  his  recognition  of  bravery  was 
instinctive. 

"  He  hain't  no  white-liver,  I  reckon,  but 
ef  he  hain't  afeard,  whut  made  him  take 
ter  the  ford  ? "  With  this  puzzling  question 
still  unanswered,  he  abandoned  all  present 
purpose  of  further  aggression,  and  slowly 
trudged  his  way  homeward. 


[68] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THERE  was  but  one  person  in  the 
world  to  whom  Andy  Taylor  gave 
his  complete  confidence.  Bettie  had 
always  been  his  sympathetic  counsellor 
and  she  alone  could  appeal  to  the  better 
side  of  his  embittered  nature.  Yet,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt,  he  knew  not 
why,  that  perhaps  it  would  not  be  well 
to  tell  her  his  dreary  thoughts.  He  noted, 
with  strange  uneasiness  and  sorrow,  that 
with  the  passing  of  summer,  the  colour 
had  fled  from  her  cheeks.  Often  he  would 
sit,  unnoticed,  with  his  questioning  gaze 
fixed  upon  her  wan,  sad  face,  as  she  bent 
over  the  tasks  of  the  day.  Then  she  would 
look  up  with  a  forced  smile,  but  he  knew 
the  old-time  light  of  mirth  had  faded  from 
the  mild  brown  eyes.  So,  pondering  it 
[69! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

all,  he  had  reluctantly  concluded  not  to 
burden  her  with  his  desperate  plans  and 
bitter  thoughts.  Then,  again,  he  well  knew 
that  she  would  censure  and  try  to  dis- 
suade him  from  a  course  he  had  secretly 
sworn  to  pursue  to  the  end. 

On  the  evening  of  his  experience  at  the 
ford,  Bettie  knew  that  something  unusual 
had  happened.  She  saw  his  face  look 
troubled,  then  cloud  with  an  angry,  evil 
expression.  After  supper  he  quietly  rose 
and  leaving  the  room,  passed  out  into  the 
night.  She  soon  followed  and  found  him 
at  the  old  stile  back  of  the  house.  Sitting 
down  beside  him,  she  laid  her  hand  affec- 
tionately upon  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  it's  you-uns,  Sis!"  came  in  tones 
of  welcome  recognition.  Then  a  long 
silence  fell  upon  them.  Bettie  was  the 
first  to  speak.  "Bud,"  she  soothingly 
inquired,  "  somethin'  's  gone  wrong.  What 
ails  ye?  Tell  me,  won't  ye?"  After  a 
[70] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

pause  she  added,  "Maybe  I  can  holpe  ye, 
Bud." 

Andy  Taylor  was  in  that  frame  of  mind 
when  he  felt  that  he  must  share  his  thoughts 
with  some  one,  and  was  at  that  moment 
considering  the  advisability  of,  at  least 
partly,  unburdening  his  soul  to  Bettie.  In 
spite  of  his  former  resolution  to  keep  his 
own  counsel,  her  solicitous  and  affectionate 
inquiry  turned  the  scale.  "Little  Sis," 
he  hesitatingly  began,  "I  reckon  I  ought 
not  ter  tell  ye,  but  I  reckon  ye  hate  'em 
too,  that  is,  about  ez  bad  ez  ye  kin  hate 
anybody." 

He  felt  her  hand  tremble  and  clutch 
his  arm.  "Who  do  ye  mean?  Tell  me, 
Bud,"  she  quickly  demanded. 

"  Oh,  ye  know  —  them  damn  Gentrys," 
he  slowly  answered. 

The  pitying  moon  passed  beneath  a 
cloud  and  shut  from  his  sight  the  suffering 
little  face. 

[7*1 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Yes,  Bud,  tell  me  quick,  what's  hap- 
pened," came  from  the  colourless  lips. 

"Oh,  nothin'.  That's  jest  whut  ails 
me.  I  ought  ter  have  kilt  him ;  damn  him ! " 

"Oh,  Bud,  don't  talk  that  way  —  please 
don't.  It  air  wrong." 

He  sat  with  his  head  dropped  forward 
in  his  hands,  silently  meditating.  "Sis," 
he  finally  said,  "I'm  a-goin'  ter  tell  ye 
somethin'  I  'lowed  I  'd  never  tell  ye.  That 
damned  Nath  air  a  queer  one.  I  can't 
make  him  out  somehow."  Then  he  told 
her  all  about  what  transpired  at  the  ford, 
and  when  he  finished,  he  looked  into  her 
face,  inquiringly,  "Now,  Bettie,  whut  do 
ye  reckon  he  war  a-drivin'  at,  when  he 
'lowed  he  hed  a  reason  fer  not  a-wantin' 
ter  do  me  no  harm  ? " 

She  spoke  no  word  in  answer,  but  sat 

silent,  with  her  gaze  fixed  upon  some  object 

away  off  toward  the  mountains,  while  her 

troubled  face  showed  still  and  white  in  the 

[7*1 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

pallor  of  the  waning  moon.  Finally,  she 
could  stand  no  more.  Contending  emo- 
tions filled  her  gentle  soul  to  overflowing, 
and  though  she  could  not  speak,  great 
tears,  those  silent  messengers  of  sorrow, 
glistened  and  fell  in  the  moonlight.  The 
reason  for  it  all  —  ah,  how  well  she  knew, 
yet  the  golden  secret  of  all  secrets  lay  locked 
with  memory's  sacred  treasures,  in  the 
sorrowing  heart. 

With  the  striking  down  of  her  father, 
cherished  hopes  had  withered  and  died, 
and  ever  since  she  had  gone  about  as  one 
in  the  haze  of  a  hopeless  misery.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  lingering,  weary  years 
of  wretchedness  stretched  away  to  the 
distant  long  ago,  and  ended  where  the 
shadows  slowly  crept  across  Lost  Meadow. 
Many  times,  in  the  silent  watches  of  the 
night,  she  had  cried  out  in  unavailing 
despair,  praying  that  her  soul  might  be 
purged  of  a  love  that  now  seemed  to  her 
[731 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

an  unholy  thing,  tainted  with  the  blood  of 
loved  ones.  Her  brother's  story  filled  her 
with  a  mysterious,  awful  dread,  and  she 
grew  weak  and  faint  with  a  sickening 
fear. 

"Why,  sis,  what's  the  matter,  honey? 
Thar  now,  don't  bother  yer  brain  about  it. 
I  reckon  I  ought  ter  had  more  sense  then 
ter  be  a-tellin'  a  gal  about  sech.  Ye  know 
Andy  did  n't  mean  ter  trouble  ye."  So 
saying,  he  put  his  arm  affectionately  about 
her  trembling  form. 

"Bud,"  she  faltered,  her  lips  white  and 
quivering.  "I  know  ye  wouldn't  hurt 
me  —  I  reckon  I  ain't  much  'count,  nohow, 
since  daddy  —  war  taken.  Things  ain't 
never  seemed  like  they  used  ter  be.  Ye  air 
all  me  an'  mammy's  got  an*  I  don't  want 
ye  ter  be  a-fightin'."  She  wiped  away 
a  tear,  then  sat  silently  pensive  for  a 
moment. 

"  Ef  anything  war  ter  happen  teryou-uns, 
174] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

there  would  n't  be  no  men  folks  left  ter 
look  arter  mammy  an'  me,"  she  continued 
in  an  earnest,  beseeching  voice.  "Besides, 
Bud,  it  air  agin  the  teachings  of  the  Good 
Book  ter  take  a  human  bein's  life.  It 
air  somethin'  ye  can't  give  back  when  once 
ye  hev  tuk  it  away."  She  was  looking  with 
great  earnestness  into  his  firm-set  face. 
"It  air  awful,  Bud,  ter  think  of  killin' 
them  ez  never  done  ye  no  harm.  Nath, 
I  know,  air  a  Gentry,"  and  her  voice 
fell  to  a  whisper,  "but  he  told  ye, 
Bud,  ter  yer  face,  he  did  n't  want  ter  do 
yer  no  hurt." 

"Sis,"  he  interrupted,  "women  folks 
can't  understand.  It  air  no  use  ter  talk 
ter  ye,  but  I  'm  ashamed,  arter  all  that 's 
happened,  that  thar  air  one  of  the  breed 
left  ter  prowl  the  face  of  the  yearth.  When 
I  think  ez  how  they  been  a-misusin'  an* 
a-killin'  all  these  years,  I  hate  'em  so  — 
Oh!  Sis,  ye  air  a  gal  an'  ye  don't  know 
[75] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

how  a  man  can  hate  an'  despise  them  ez 
wrongs  him!" 

'Yes,  but  Bud,  don't  ye  know  it  would  n't 
do  no  good  ?  It  would  n't  bring  back 
daddy  an'  the  rest  fer  ye  ter  kill  a  thousand 
Gentrys.  Oh,  Bud,  it  makes  me  so  afeard 
when  ye  talk  that  a-way!  I  'm  afeard  he 
might  kill  you-uns,  Bud." 

At  this  he  grew  livid  with  suppressed 
anger,  his  hands  clenched  and  his  firm 
jaws  were  set  with  murderous  determina- 
tion. He  rose  and  faced  Bettie. 

"Tom  Gentry  robbed  ye  of  the  best 
father  a  gal  ever  had.  But  fer  the  Gentrys, 
ye  'd  be  merry  an'  happy  an'  a-singin' 
like  yer  used  ter,  instead  of  mopin'  an' 
grievin'  yer  little  life  away.  They  air 
all  of  the  same  breed  —  damn  'em  —  an' 
I  hate  'em.  They  air  a  pack  of  liars. 
That  low-lived  Nath  air  a-hatin'  us  all. 
I  know  how  't  is.  He  air  aimin*  ter 
ketch  me  off  my  guard  —  damn  him ! 

[76] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

He  air  lyin'  about  not  a-wantin'  ter 
harm  me." 

As  he  stood  there  in  the  moonlight, 
with  his  great  manly  figure  clearly  out- 
lined against  the  starry  heavens,  his  arms 
folded  across  his  deep  chest,  looking  down 
upon  Bettie,  a  great  tenderness  and  com- 
passion came  over  him.  "Don't  bother, 
little  Sis,"  he  said  as  he  stroked  her  hair, 
"  't  ain't  no  use  ter  be  a-worryin'  afore 
anything  happens  fer  ter  worry  about.  I 
hain't  done  nobody  no  hurt  yet  —  an' 
I  reckon  ez  how  I  ought  ter  be  man  enough 
ter  hold  my  own  again  a  kennel  of  hounds 
sech  ez  the  breed  over  yander  way."  He 
pointed  across  the  trees  toward  the  Gentry 
home.  "I  reckon  everything '11  come  out 
all  right  some  day.  I  jest  git  mad  an  all 
put  out  sometimes,  but  I  'm  a-thinkin' 
thar  hain't  much  danger  of  me  a-fightin' 
nobody." 

Looking  up  with  a  smile,  she  rose  and 
(771 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

put  her  arms  around  his  neck.  "That 's 
right,  Bud,  I  love  ter  hear  ye  talk  that 
a-way.  Ye  air  too  good  an'  kind  ter  be 
a-talkin'  about  killin'  them  ez  never 
wronged  ye.  Ye  could  n't  do  it,  Bud,  I 
know  ye  could  n't." 


[781 


CHAPTER  IX 

XTATHAN  GENTRY  rested  his  arms 
7-  ^  upon  the  low  rail  fence  that  bordered 
the  valley  road,  and  gazed  in  dreamy 
sadness  away  across  the  brown  October 
fields,  to  where  a  thin  blue  line  of  smoke 
curled  lazily  above  the  distant  woods, 
soon  merging  its  colour  in  the  richer  tints 
of  the  unbroken  skies. 

The  peaceful  calm  of  an  Indian  summer 
lay  upon  the  land.  Down  the  valley  the 
scattered  quails  were  calling  in  the  rag- 
weed and  the  stubble.  Burnished  turkeys, 
venturing  timidly  from  the  shelter  of  the 
woods,  fed  upon  the  shocks  of  yellow  corn, 
standing  like  tented  settlements  in  the 
deadened  fields;  and  gentle  doves  flew  from 
the  cautious  heights  of  stark  bare  limbs  and 
gathered  the  waste  of  the  garnered  grain. 

[79] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Nath  glanced  at  the  sinking  sun,  just 
topping  the  lofty  ridges  to  the  west,  and 
instinctively  marked  the  hour  of  day; 
then  his  eyes  sought  the  distant  tree-tops 
once  again,  and  lingered  where  the  smoke 
from  the  Taylor  home  drifted  slowly 
skyward.  Turning  pensively  away,  he 
entered  the  house,  soon  reappearing  with 
a  rifle  swinging  at  his  side;  and  slowly 
made  his  way  toward  the  eastern  ridges, 
where  the  provident  squirrels  were  cutting 
the  beach  mast  and  the  hickories. 

At  sight  of  the  gun  Wat  went  into 
ecstasies,  telling  his  great  joy  in  sharp  fits 
of  barking  and  throwing  himself  upon  his 
master;  then  he  would  lead  off  swiftly 
toward  the  timber,  returning  in  a  run  to  tag 
his  indifferent  companion,  then  away  and 
back  again,  coaxing  and  wheedling,  impa- 
tient of  Nathan's  tardy,  leisurely  gait. 
As  they  entered  the  forest,  the  dog,  with 
unerring  instinct,  made  off  toward  a  deeply 

[80] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

timbered  cove,  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight. 
For  a  while  the  rustle  of  the  dry  leaves  and 
the  shaking  of  the  underbrush  told  that  he 
was  covering  the  ground  as  he  went,  then 
the  sounds  ceased  altogether,  and  Nath 
slowly  trudged  along,  pausing  at  intervals 
to  listen  for  the  baying  of  the  dog. 

He  heard  the  shrill  call  of  the  yellow- 
hammers  as  they  darted  from  tree  to  tree, 
and  away  up  the  mountain  a  pheasant  was 
"drumming."  A  little  striped  ground 
squirrel  hurried  along  a  fallen  sweet-gum 
and  disappeared  in  the  sheltering  foliage  of 
a  drooping  grape-vine. 

Nathan  Gentry  loved  the  fields  and  woods 
and  found  great  comfort  in  the  companion- 
ship of  the  untamed  creatures  of  the  forest. 
The  more  serious  problems  of  his  simple  life 
were  solved  while  wandering  in  the  sylvan 
solitudes. 

He  stopped  beside  a  clear,  pure  stream, 
and,  leaning  his  gun  against  a  convenient 

[81] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

maple,  threw  himself  full  length  upon  the 
brown  leafy  carpet  at  the  edge  of  the  water. 
He  quenched  a  well-earned  thirst;  then 
drew  himself  on  higher  ground  and  lay  on 
his  back  peering  through  the  variegated 
foliage  of  the  sheltering  trees  into  the 
unclouded  azure  of  the  skies. 

Overhead,  the  crimson  of  the  maple 
mingled  with  the  more  sombre  tints  of  the 
hickory;  to  the  right,  the  russet  of  the  sweet- 
gum  quivered  and  fell  in  the  breeze;  the 
tall  beech  and  the  shady  elm  were  dropping 
into  the  lap  of  earth  their  yearly  harvest  of 
gold;  while,  here  and  there,  the  autumn 
shades  were  broken  by  the  unfailing  green 
of  the  holly. 

With  hands  clasped  beneath  his  head,  he 
lay  for  some  time  quiet  and  meditative.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  past.  It  seemed  years 
since  the  spring-time;  and  the  joy  of  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  day  in  the  sequestered 
meadow,  was  to  him  like  the  memory  of 

[82] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

some  delicious  fancy,  visionary  and  unreal. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and  she  was  beside  him 
once  again.  He  saw  the  joy  of  a  new  hope 
beaming  in  her  upturned  face  as  the  golden 
afterglow  of  the  sinking  sun  gathered  in  her 
hair.  Then  the  long  shadows  of  the  mellow 
gloaming  crept  across  Lost  Meadow,  and 
raven-winged  night  shut  out  the  light  of 
hope  and  bore  her  from  him,  and  he  saw  her 
no  more. 

Suddenly  his  reveries  were  cut  short  by 
the  sharp  eager  baying  of  the  dog.  He 
raised  on  his  elbow  and  listened  intently 
to  mark  the  direction  of  the  sound.  With 
the  quick  ear  of  the  trained  hunter,  he 
detected  a  false  note.  The  dog  evidently 
was  not  barking  "treed."  He  rose,  and 
crossing  the  stream,  hurried  on.  He  had 
not  gone  far  when  the  baying  ceased  entirely. 

As  Wat  was  famous  as  a  squirrel  hunter, 
and  gave  no  false  alarms,  Nath  was  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  his  unusual  conduct. 

[83] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Slowing  up,  he  strolled  leisurely  along  in 
the  direction  whence  the  sounds  had  come, 
feeling  a  mild  interest  in  ascertaining  the 
cause  of  the  dog's  behaviour.  He  reached 
the  base  of  the  mountain,  then  circling  to 
the  south,  made  his  way  laboriously 
through  the  thick  underbrush  and  over 
fallen  trees  for  quite  a  distance.  He 
remembered  that  a  little  farther  on,  an  old 
unused  timber  road  led  from  the  valley 
away  toward  the  mountain  and  ended  in 
a  great  secluded  cove,  where  the  stately 
hickory  and  majestic  oak  marked  the  flight 
of  centuries.  His  course  led  around  an  im- 
penetrable thicket  of  green  briers  and  laurel. 
Suddenly  through  the  autumn  foliage,  the 
sight  of  some  white  object  moving  slowly 
down  the  road  arrested  and  fixed  his  atten- 
tion. Pausing  in  the  shelter  of  the  laurel 
he  waited.  On  it  came,  and,  as  it  reached 
the  clearing,  the  rifle  dropped  from  Nathan's 
nerveless  grasp  and  lay  upon  the  dead 

[84] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

leaves  at  his  feet.  He  passed  his  trembling 
hand  across  his  eyes  to  test  the  truth  of  his 
vision,  and  his  strong  sturdy  frame  shook 
under  the  weight  of  great  emotions. 

There,  in  the  abandoned  roadway,  stood 
Bettie  Taylor.  Her  sun-bonnet  hung  far 
back  upon  her  head,  and  her  hair,  loosed  to 
the  evening  breeze,  caught  the  mellow 
radiance  of  the  low-descending  sun,  and 
matched  the  russet  of  the  autumn  shades. 

Since  last  he  saw  her  the  brown  eyes  had 
grown  more  tender  and  pensive.  The 
beautiful  face  bore  the  expression  of  long 
and  uncomplaining  anguish. 

She  uneasily  scanned  the  road,  then  softly 
and  cautiously  called  to  Wat,  who  came 
quickly  to  her  side.  She  stooped  and  gently 
stroked  his  head,  and  putting  her  arm 
around  the  little  fellow's  neck,  pressed  her 
face  close  against  his  coarse  brown  coat. 
She  rose  and  started  on  her  way,  but  turned 
and  commanded  in  a  low  sharp  tone:  "Go 

[85] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

home,  Wat,  go  home,  sir."  She  stood 
bewildered  and  confused  as  a  voice  from 
the  thicket  called  to  her  to  stay,  then  she 
felt  the  guilt  of  a  great  joy  as  Nath  sprang 
to  her  side. 

"Ah,  Bettie!"  he  cried,  his  voice  low  and 
mellow  with  a  great  tenderness,  "I  've  been 
a-hopin'  an'  a-prayin'  for  ter  see  ye  agin. 
Listen  ter  me,  Bettie.  Ye  don't  know  an* 
I  can't  never  tell  ye,  how  I've  grieved  for  ye, 
Honey.  Tell  me,  ye  ain't  a-holdin'  it  all 
up  agin  me,  air  ye  ? " 

For  a  while  she  could  not  answer,  but 
stood  pale  and  trembling  with  averted  face 
and  eyes  now  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  and  led  her, 
unresisting,  to  a  fallen  tree.  Sitting  down 
beside  her  and  looking  into  her  face,  he 
began : 

"  Bettie,  it  seems  ter  me  ez  ef  God  must 
hev  brought  ye  ter  me.  Tell  me,  won't  ye, 
air  ye  glad  ?" 

[86] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Yes,  Nath,"  came  the  simple  answer. 

"Bettie,  it  air  no  use  ter  fight  agin  the 
things  as  hev  ter  be."  His  voice  sank  almost 
to  a  whisper.  "Once,  I  war  afeard  it  war 
a  sin  fer  me  ter  be  a-lovin'  ye,  an*  I  did  my 
best  not  ter  think  of  ye.  The  more  I  tried, 
the  more  I  loved  ye.  Now,  I  ain't  a-tryin' 
no  more,  fer  I  know  it  air  too  late." 

He  paused  in  confusion,  then  continued: 
"I  ain't  a-thinkin'  that  way  no  more.  It 
air  my  right  ter  love  ye  an'  I  'm  a-keerin' 
fer  ye  more  than  all  the  world,  more  than  I 
can  ever  tell  ye,  Bettie;  an'  ef  ye  air  willin' 
ter  go,  arter  all  that 's  happened,  I  mean  ter 
take  ye  home  an'  work  fer  ye,  an'  love  ye, 
ez  long  ez  ye  live." 

She  had  listened  quietly  to  all  he  had  said, 
and  her  heart  beat  quick  with  a  great  happi- 
ness. His  nearness  and  the  eloquence  of 
his  earnest  sincerity  filled  her  soul  to  over- 
flowing with  a  greater  and  more  tender  love 
than  she  had  ever  known.  Unmindful  of 

[87] 


DON'T  SAY  THAT,  BETTY,'  HE  CRIED,  '  YE  DON'T  MEAN  IT,  I 
KNOW  YE  DON'T!  " 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

all  save  the  present,  there  surged  in  her  heart 
an  indescribable  yearning  to  have  him  near 
her  always;  then  the  dread  past  rose  before 
her,  and  she  grew  weak  and  faint  in  hopeless 
fear  as  she  thought  of  the  starry  night  at  the 
old  stile,  and  all  that  Andy  had  said  to  her 
there  in  the  moonlight.  To  hide  from  him 
her  thoughts,  she  pulled  her  bonnet  low  over 
her  face.  A  little  hand  reached  out  and 
rested  confidingly  upon  his  arm.  "Nath," 
she  faltered,  "air  ye  really  a-keerin'  so  much 
fer  me?" 

"So  much,  Bettie,  thet  I  reckon  it  won't 
be  much  use  a-livin'  without  ye.  Air  ye 
a-keerin*  that  much  fer  me?"  he  beseech- 
ingly questioned. 

As  he  listened  for  her  reply,  the  beating 
of  his  heart  kept  time  with  the  quick  rapping 
of  a  flicker  on  a  deadened  elm.  Off  toward 
the  mountain,  the  dreary  moaning  of  the 
autumn  breezes  sounded  in  the  tall  pines. 

Fearful  of  her  silence,  he  bent  forward 

[88] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

and  looked  into  her  saddened  face.  "Tell 
me,  Bettie,  ye  still  love  me,  don't  ye  ? " 

"Nath,  once  —  it  —  seems  —  so  —  long 
ago  —  I  used  ter  think  I  'd  never  tell  ye 
agin,  an'  I  war  a-hopin'  ye  would  never 
know  how  I  been  a-keerin'  fer  ye." 

She  paused  in  confusion,  then  her  face 
grew  pitifully  sad.  "But,  it  air  no  use  ter 
be  a-tellin'  ye  now,  because  —  I  —  can't  — 
never,  never  marry  ye." 

Pale  and  trembling,  he  rose  and  faced  her. 
In  his  agitation,  he  caught  her  tender  shoul- 
ders with  a  cruel  force  and  drew  her  to  him. 
"  Don't  say  that,  Bettie,"  he  cried,  "ye  don't 
mean  it,  I  know  ye  don't!" 

As  she  saw  how  deeply  she  had  hurt  him, 
a  great  feeling  of  sorrow  and  compassion 
swept  over  her.  "Nath,  don't  look  that  way 
I  don't  aim  ter  grieve  ye,  fer  I  love  ye;  ye 
don't  know  how  much  I  love  ye.  Ye  know 
why  I  can't  never  marry  ye.  Can't  —  ye  — 
see  —  it  air  —  all  —  a-killin'  me?"  she 

[89] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

sobbed.  "I  '11  love  ye  ez  long  ez  I  live,  but 
I  can't  never  be  yer  wife." 

A  pitying  tenderness  surged  in  his  heart 
as  he  went  on  pleading  in  a  low,  firm  voice. 
"  Bettie,  it  air  the  workin*  of  some  power 
unbeknown  to  ye  or  me  ez  put  it  in  our 
hearts.  I  know  it  air  God's  will  that  ye  be 
mine,  and  that  I  be  yourn,  an*  I  aim  ter  go 
on  a-hopin'  an*  a-waitin'  ter  the  end,  fer 
so  it  will  be  some  day." 

She  drew  away  from  him,  and  stood  with 
her  eyes  bent  upon  the  road,  silent  and 
thoughtful.  "No,  Nath,"  she  sadly 
faltered,  "it  air  no  use.  It  can't  never  be. 
It  air  even  wrong  fer  me  ter  be  a-seein'  ye 
this  way,  fer,  ye  know,  I  can't  never,  never, 
marry  ye." 

The  dreary  hooting  of  a  distant  owl  gave 
sudden  warning  of  the  near  approach  of 
twilight;  the  lengthening  shadows  reached 
far  up  the  mountain;  and  across  the  sky 
the  crows  were  noisily  trooping  their  home- 

[90] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

ward  flight.  Through  the  forest  rose  the 
faint  voice  of  the  chill  evening  winds,  singing 
the  melancholy  requiem  of  the  dying  day. 

Bettie  looked  in  pensive  sadness  away 
toward  the  valley  and  murmured  half 
to  herself:  "It  air  late  an'  the  world  air 
growin'  dark  an'  cold."  She  turned  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  Nath.  He  tried  to 
clasp  her  to  his  heart.  "No  Nath,"  she 
said,  as  she  drew  away,  "don't  tech  me. 
It  air  not  yer  right,  for  it  can't  never  be." 

As  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  all  the  yearn- 
ing anguish  of  her  gentle  soul  was  written 
there.  Under  the  burden  of  his  emotions, 
his  sturdy  form  swayed  and  quivered. 
Words  of  wondrous  love  trembled  upon 
their  parted  lips,  but  the  beauteous  elo- 
quence of  an  all-potent  silence  remained 
unbroken  to  the  end. 

She  turned  slowly  from  him  and  gaining 
the  road  was  soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  deepen- 
ing shadows  of  the  tangled  wildwood. 

[91] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Long  after  she  had  passed  from  view  he 
stood  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  bend  in  the 
road.  He  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow. 
"It  air  late,"  he  repeated  in  dreamy  sad- 
ness, "an*  the  world  air  growin'  dark  an' 
cold." 


[92] 


CHAPTER  X 

ASTDY  TAYLOR  was  no  braggart, 
but  the  unaccountable  behaviour  of 
Nath  so  preyed  upon  his  mind  that  he 
sought  out  Lew  Mason,  and  in  a  burst  of 
confidence  related,  with  some  measure  of 
truth  and  in  detail,  the  meeting  at  the 
bridge.  This  bit  of  gossip  was  of  too 
interesting  a  nature  to  remain,  for  very 
long,  untold.  Lew  staggered  under  its 
weight  for  some  days,  then  fragments 
began  to  leak  out,  by  way  of  unfinished 
phrases  and  ingenious  innuendo.  These 
were  eagerly  caught  up  and  patched 
together;  then  passed  along  the  valley 
more  swiftly  than  the  crow  flies.  In  fine,  it 
became  noised  abroad  that  Nath  Gentry 
had  "backed  down." 

The  scandal  reached  the  ears  of  Nath 
[931 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

but  he  spoke  no  word  of  denial.  Explana- 
tions were  impossible,  so  with  Spartan 
fortitude  he  endured  the  anguish  of 
unmerited  contumely.  Old-time  friends 
looked  at  him  askance,  with  something  of 
pity  in  their  questioning  gaze.  On  his 
approach,  the  murmur  of  gossiping  groups 
was  abruptly  hushed,  and  new  themes  rung 
in  more  suited  to  his  ear.  Dreary  thoughts 
drove  him  to  the  quiet  seclusion  of  the 
fields,  and  the  woods,  far  from  the  torture 
of  accusing  eyes. 

Weeks  lengthened  into  months,  and  the 
first  snow  of  winter  whitened  the  land- 
scape. Wee  birds,  tamed  by  hunger, 
flitted  and  chirped  about  the  barn  in 
search  of  food;  sweet-voiced  larks  and 
timid  doves  flew  straight  from  the  fields 
and  fed  unmolested  near  the  open  door. 
The  sinking  sun  shimmered  in  the  frosted 
branches  of  the  tall  trees,  marking  the 
early  approach  of  the  long  twilight. 

[94l 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

The  tasks  of  the  day  were  all  done,  and 
Nath  lingered  for  a  moment,  looking  about 
him  to  see  that  all  was  well  with  the  feeding 
stock.  He  stood  still  and  listened  as  his 
ear  caught  the  faint,  measured  stroke  of 
an  axe  away  off  somewhere  in  the  big 
timber.  His  hand  rested  upon  the  half- 
open  gate,  and  he  turned  in  indecision, 
with  his  eyes  bent  in  the  direction  of  the 
falling  axe.  Pausing  in  deep  thought,  his 
troubled  face  lit  up  with  an  expression  of 
calm  determination,  tempered  by  a  smile 
of  kindness.  Closing  the  gate,  he  walked 
rapidly  toward  the  woods,  taking  a  course 
up  the  slopes,  then  bearing  off  to  the  right 
where  a  footpath  threaded  its  devious 
way  through  timber  and  undergrowth. 

At  his  approach,  a  crimson  cardinal 
and  its  more  sombre-coloured  mate  darted 
merrily  in  and  out  of  the  underbrush,  then 
disappeared  amid  the  green  of  a  near-by 
holly.  The  faint  soft  call  of  the  robins 

[95] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

sounded  above  him  from  their  lofty  perch 
among  the  hackberries. 

He  trudged  along,  with  his  eyes  bent 
upon  the  untrodden  snow,  unseeing  and 
unmindful  of  all  save  the  even  beating  of  the 
axe,  growing  more  and  more  distinct.  He 
reached  the  summit  of  a  little  knoll,  and 
the  blood  rushed  hot  to  his  face  as  he 
peered  into  the  dell  beyond. 

All  unconscious  of  Nathan's  nearness, 
with  his  sleeves  rolled  high  on  his  brawny 
arms,  unhampered  of  coat  or  hat,  Andy 
Taylor  stood  not  a  dozen  yards  ahead, 
wielding  the  axe  with  a  mighty  force. 

Nath  watched,  constrained  to  admira- 
tion, as  the  man  before  him  poised  the 
ringing  blade  high  above  his  head,  then 
with  the  strength  of  a  giant  and  the  dex- 
terity of  a  skilled  woodsman,  sent  the 
shining  steel  to  the  hilt  in  the  resisting 
fibre  of  a  fallen  hickory. 

Nath  stood  for  a  moment  measuring 
[96] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

his  strength  with  the  ponderous  power 
of  the  man  before  him.  Gentry  was  the 
more  slight  of  form,  yet  he  had  trained 
and  toiled  in  the  open  air  till  his  athletic 
frame  held  the  sinews  and  agility  of  the 
lion.  In  prowess  and  power,  he  might, 
indeed,  be  compared  to  Taylor  as  the 
slender  lion  to  the  clumsy  grizzly. 

At  the  call  of  his  name,  Andy  turned 
and  stood  with  the  wrath  of  an  angry 
challenge  gathering  in  his  glowing  face. 
For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  then  his  lips 
curled  contemptuously.  "So,"  he  began, 
"the  boys  hev  smoked  the  last  whelp  of 
the  breed  outen  his  hole.  Come  on  down," 
he  beckoned,  "thar  hain't  but  one  thing 
you-uns  kin  want  with  me,  an'  the  man  ez 
gits  away  kin  tell  ther  boys  it  war  a  fair 
fight  an'  ter  the  finish."  With  this,  he 
threw  his  axe  far  from  him,  where  it  fell 
buried  in  the  snow,  and  stood  waiting 
like  a  ferocious  beast  at  bay. 

[97l 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

Andy's  words  sent  the  blood  from 
Nathan's  face,  and  almost  robbed  him  of 
his  generous  purpose.  His  hands  clenched 
nervously,  then  regaining  his  composure, 
he  stood  quietly  gazing  at  Andy,  as  if  he 
would  read,  in  the  depths  of  his  angry 
eyes,  the  answer  to  all  that  he  had  come 
in  kindness  to  say. 

"Andy  Taylor,"  he  began,  in  calm, 
measured  tones,  "ye  hev  said  some  hard 
words  ter  me;  words,  I  thought  once,  I  'd 
never  take  from  any  man.  I  ain't  afeard 
of  ye,  Andy,  an'  that  air  one  reason  I  don't 
feel  'bleeged  ter  fight  ye."  As  he  con- 
tinued, his  voice  grew  low  and  mellow. 
"Thar  air  another  reason,  Andy,  why  I  'm 
not  a-wantin'  ter  do  ye  no  hurt,  an'  I  've 
come  ter  tell  ye  all  about  it,  an'  I  want  ter 
be  yer  friend."  His  face  was  aglow  with 
an  infinite,  forgiving  kindness,  as  he 
advanced  with  outstretched  hand. 

The  blindness  of  a  long,  brooding  rage 
[98] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

closed  Taylor's  ears  to  words  and  shut 
his  mind  to  all  reason.  "Ye  white-livered 
dog!"  he  hissed,  as  he  struck  Nath  a 
stinging  blow  full  in  the  face,  staggering 
him  with  its  cruel  force. 

With  the  strength  and  ferocity  of  a 
madman,  and  the  rage  and  fury  of  a 
wounded  beast,  Nath  Gentry  sprang  upon 
his  adversary  and  bore  him,  struggling 
and  face  upward,  to  the  ground.  Far 
from  the  possibility  of  friendly  intervention, 
in  the  sequestered  solitudes,  they  rolled 
and  battled  like  demons  in  the  white  snow. 
All  was  silent  about  them,  and  no  sound 
told  of  the  desperate  work  save  the  dull 
blows  and  heavy  breathing  of  the  men,  as 
they  toiled  and  strained  in  sweat  and  blood. 

The  early  vantage  was  quickly  lost,  and 
Nath  felt  the  cold  snow  settle  about  his  now 
uncovered  head.  Years  before,  in  the 
friendly  bouts  at  school,  he  had  been  a 
famous  and  unvanquished  wrestler,  and 

[99! 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

never  did  his  prowess  stand  him  more  in 
need.  Lithe  and  supple  of  body,  he 
writhed  and  twisted  from  beneath  his 
heavy  burden,  and  swift  as  lightning 
regained  the  mastery.  Death  lurked  in 
his  firm-set  face,  and  half-closed  eyes,  as 
his  hands  closed,  like  chains  of  unyielding 
steel,  about  the  brawny  neck  of  his  pros- 
trate foe. 

Suddenly  Taylor  ceased  his  struggling, 
and  lay  seemingly  helpless  with  wide- 
staring  eyes  and  parted  lips.  His  terror- 
stricken  face  was  a  ghastly  thing  to  behold, 
and  now  matched  the  pallor  of  the  fleecy 
snow.  His  right  hand  fumbled  in  the 
clothing  at  his  waist.  Quick  as  a  flash, 
a  knife  gleamed  in  the  frosty  air,  unseen 
and  unknown;  then  fell  with  murderous, 
desperate  intent  upon  his  unguarded  foe. 

A  sensation  like  the  sharp  prick  of  a 
needle  waked  Gentry  to  the  consciousness 
of  the  villainous  deed.  A  dizzy  weakness 

[100] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

came  upon  him  as  he  felt  the  warm  blood 
upon  his  side.  He  caught  the  murderous 
arm  as  it  poised  in  the  air  for  a  second 
stroke,  and  held  it  in  a  grip  of  steel. 

On  and  on  they  struggled,  in  the  grim 
realization  that  life  itself  lay  in  the  pos- 
session of  that  steely,  unrelenting  thing, 
fashioned  for  slaughter. 

Taylor  knew  the  disarming,  weakening 
consciousness  of  a  foul  deed  as  he  lay  close 
to  Gentry,  feeling  his  clothes  dampen  with 
the  crimson  tide;  then  a  nameless,  awful 
dread  possessed  him  as  he  felt  the  blade 
wrenched  from  his  resisting  hand  with  an 
iron  force.  He  saw  it  raised,  dull  and 
bloody,  above  him.  Death,  unsparing  and 
inexorable,  was  written  in  the  face  that 
bent  over  him.  In  that  brief  moment  he 
felt  the  chill  of  the  shadow  of  the  Valley, 
and  lay  mastered  and  benumbed  in  its 
realization,  yet  waited  in  silence,  asking 
no  quarter. 


The  look  of  unutterable  wrath  bent  upon 
him  faded  into  an  expression  of  infinite 
contempt,  that  burned  its  unchangeable 
likeness  upon  his  brain.  Like  the  hiss  of 
a  wounded  adder  came  the  words,  "Ye 
skulkin'  varmint!  I  ought  ter  kill  ye,  fer 
ye  ain't  fitten  ter  live  on  God's  yearth!" 
Then  the  knife  fell  far  from  him,  plough- 
ing its  crimson  way  through  the  drift  of 
the  snow;  and  Andy  Taylor  lay  free, 
unhampered  and  unscathed. 

A  stifling,  lonely  sense  of  shame  and 
remorse  possessed  him  as  he  rose  and 
stood  silently  watching  Nathan's  retreat- 
ing form  till  its  dim  outline  lost  itself  amid 
the  deepening  shadows  of  the  fast  approach- 
ing night.  Amazed  and  bewildered,  he 
slowly  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow, 
leaving  it  red  with  the  infamous  blood  of 
treachery. 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  "I  tried  ter  kill 
him,  an'  he  spared  me!" 

[I02J 


CHAPTER  XI 

TT^WAS  summer  again,  and  down  the 
•••  valley  the  cooling  breezes  of  the  night 
gathered  the  sweet-blended  odours  of  the 
wildwood  and  the  blossoming  fields.  A 
honeysuckle  trained  in  years  agone,  by 
tender  girlish  hands,  climbed  upon  the 
Taylor  home,  and,  clinging  in  lusty  strength, 
high  upon  the  porch,  sent  its  grateful  fra- 
grance through  the  open  door,  where  Andy 
Taylor,  fever-racked  and  sick  unto  death, 
lay  fighting,  with  waning  strength,  the 
silent  battle  supreme. 

Bettie,  exhausted  with  ceaseless  vigil, 
half  reclined,  half  sat,  by  the  bedside  of 
her  stricken  brother.  Her  head  rested  upon 
the  back  of  an  old  rocking-chair,  and  the 
fitful  gleam  of  a  candle  lit  her  face  with  its 
uncertain  rays,  showing  it  wan  and  pale. 
[103] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

The  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  the  steady 
rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom  told  that  a  merciful 
sleep  had  wrapped  the  tired  body  in  peaceful 
oblivion. 

The  man  at  her  side  slowly  opened  his 
eyes,  and,  as  they  fell  upon  the  sleeping  form, 
her  name  was  upon  his  parched,  dry  lips. 
He  meant  to  call  to  her  but  a  tender  consider- 
ation changed  his  purpose,  and  he  lay 
silently  watching,  as  she  slept. 

Tenderly  regarding  the  pallid  face  of 
the  sleeping  girl,  he  patiently  waited, 
while  the  clock  laggingly  ticked  away 
the  seconds  and  the  minutes  lengthened 
into  weary  hours.  Finally,  the  figure 
stirred;  a  long  sigh  bespoke  an  uneasy 
dream;  a  little  hand  passed  uncertainly 
across  a  pair  of  tired  eyes,  and  Bettie 
waked.  Bending  over  the  sick  man, 
she  whispered  in  uneasy  solicitude  — 
"I  Ve  been  asleep,  Bud,  air  ye  a-wantinj 
somethin'  ? " 

[104] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"A  drink,  sis/'  he  eagerly  answered, 
"I  'm  most  dead  fer  water." 

With  an  effort  he  rose  on  his  elbow,  and 
quaffed  the  cooling  liquid,  then  settled 
back  wearily  upon  his  pillow,  where  he 
rested  for  a  while,  lost  in  serious  meditation. 

"What's  a-troublin'  ye,  Bud?"  she 
softly  inquired. 

"Oh,  nothin',"  came  the  answer,  spoken 
uncertainly,  followed  by  a  heavy  sigh  as  his 
sad  eyes  searched  her  face  and  lingered 
there.  "Little  sis,"  he  hesitatingly  began, 
"yer  know,  the  doctor  'lows,  et  air  more'n 
likely  I  '11  never  leave  this  bed."  He 
paused  and  gazed  long  and  thoughtfully  at 
the  rafters  above  him,  and  then  continued: 
"I  reckon  I  hain't  afeard  ter  go,  but  I  can't 
rest  easy  for  a-thinkin'  ez  how  I  tricked 
Nath  Gentry  over  in  the  cove  that  day. 
Sis,  ye  know  he  'lowed  ez  he  hed  a  reason 
fer  not  a-wantin'  ter  hurt  me,  an'  when  he 
had  a  right  an'  the  power  ter  kill  me,  he 
[105] 


IN   THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

spared  me."  He  stopped  and  looked  at 
her  with  sad,  inquiring  eyes.  "Ye  air 
a  peart,  smart  gal,  can't  ye  rigger  out 
what  he  war  a-drivin'  at  when  he  said 
that  word  ?" 

The  tired  body  slipped  from  the  chair, 
and  knelt  at  his  bedside.  Her  arm  fell 
across  his  chest,  and  she  buried  her  face  in 
the  pillow,  close  against  his. 

"Bud,"  she  gently  faltered,  "the  reason 
war  be-cause  —  because  —  Nath  Gentry 
war  a-lovin'  me,  an  oh,  Bud,  I  love  him,  for 
I  know  he  air  good  an'  true  an'  noble!" 

The  question  had  been  a  mere  spoken 
expression  of  his  own  perplexity.  He  had 
not  expected  a  reply,  and  her  behaviour  and 
the  unlooked-for  words,  so  laden  with  a 
world  of  meaning,  and  so  far-reaching  in 
their  influence,  quite  overcame  him. 
Almost  stupefied  with  surprise,  he  did  not 
speak,  but  put  his  arms  about  her  neck 
and  feebly  drew  her  to  him.  No  sound 

[106] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

within  broke  the  potent  silence,  save  the 
even  ticking  of  the  old  clock  as  it  told  the 
flight  of  time. 

Out  in  the  starry  night  a  cock  called  the 
hour  of  midnight,  and  was  answered  by  an 
endless  chain  of  clarion  notes  stretching 
away  down  the  valley;  toward  the  moun- 
tains, the  long,  musical  baying  of  a  hound 
might  be  heard  as  he  trailed  a  prowling  fox 
to  cover;  and  the  quavering,  lonesome 
plaint  of  a  screech-owl  sounded  in  the 
nearby  cedars. 

Andy  lay  wrapped  in  deep  thought,  star- 
ing at  the  rafters  above  him  with  wide-open, 
unseeing  eyes,  while  spots  of  crimson  burned 
upon  his  sunken  cheeks.  When  he  finally 
spoke,  his  voice  sounded  strangely  hoarse 
and  unnatural. 

"Sis,"  he  weakly  murmured,  "air  ye 
afeard  of  the  dark  ? "  And  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  continued:  "It  air  two 
mile  an'  better  ter  the  Gentrys'  by  the  big 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

road,  an'  it  air  a  scant  mile  straight  through 
the  timber." 

"Yes,  Bud!"  she  whispered,  in  a  voice 
laden  with  suppressed  interest  and  hope. 

"Sis,"  he  said,  growing  intensely  serious 
and  now  looking  straight  into  her  eyes: 
'Ye  air  right!  It  air  all  plain  ez  day  now. 
Nath  Gentry  air  the  bravest  an'  best  man 
in  all  Twilight  Valley,  an'  I  want  ter  tell 
him  ez  how  I  wronged  him,  an'  that  I  hain't 
a-hatin'  him  no  more." 

Pausing,  he  regarded  her  critically  as  if  to 
measure  the  courage  and  strength  of  the 
weary,  overwrought  little  figure.  His  sur- 
vey failed  to  reassure  him,  for  he  turned 
wearily  away,  murmuring  in  a  voice  of  mis- 
giving and  regret:  "No  —  ye  —  can't  — 
fetch  him  —  it  air  a  man's  work  —  ter  walk 
the  woods  —  at  midnight." 

The  strength-sapping  emotions  and 
exertions  of  the  moment  proved  too  much 
for  his  waning  vitality,  and,  in  utter 

[108] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

exhaustion,  he  soon  fell  into  a  peaceful 
slumber 

Bettie  arose  cautiously  from  the  bedside, 
and  catching  up  a  shawl  from  a  nearby 
chair,  wrapped  it  about  her  slender  shoul- 
ders; crossing  to  the  door  leading  into 
her  mother's  room,  she  noiselessly  opened 
and  left  it  slightly  ajar.  Returning  to  the 
bedside,  she  bent  over  her  sleeping  brother, 
while  her  lips  moved  in  a  simple,  childish 
prayer  of  love,  and  beseeching  supplication 
for  his  recovery. 

As  she  turned  uncertainly  away,  a  bliss- 
ful dream  wreathed  his  pallid,  wasted 
features  in  a  beauteous  smile.  Reaching 
the  outer  door,  she  paused  in  indecision 
with  her  hand  upon  the  latch,  and  took  a 
last,  lingering  look  around;  then  out  into 
the  lonesome,  starry  night,  she  quickly 
made  her  way. 

A  friendly  old  hound  rose  whining  and 
twining,  from  the  shelter  of  the  porch,  and 
[109] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

followed,  licking  at  her  hand  as  she  fled 
swiftly  toward  the  shadowy  woods.  Her 
course  lay  through  darkened  solitudes, 
calculated  to  awaken  the  superstitious  awe 
and  uneasy  fancies  of  brave  men.  A  timid 
lamb  rose,  white  and  ghostlike,  from  the 
path,  and  ran  bleating  and  in  terror  before 
the  apparition  of  the  fleeing  girl.  The 
sight  startled  her,  and  she  stooped  for  a 
moment  to  take  comfort  of  the  good  old 
dog;  then  on  she  flew,  into  the  dull,  for- 
bidding shadows  of  the  great  trees.  Off 
in  the  laurel,  she  heard  the  querulous  bark 
of  a  fox,  and  trembled  with  fear  as  an  owl, 
impatient  of  the  nightly  intrusion,  darted 
from  a  nearby  limb,  fluttering  and  snapping 
drearily. 

Emerging  from  the  timber,  she  crossed 
the  sequestered  meadow,  so  rich  in  sweet 
memories,  and  passed  again  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  trees,  where  the  path,  abandoned 
and  overgrown,  reached  unfamiliar  and 

[no] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

forbidden  ground.  Weak  and  breathless, 
yet  desperate  in  her  resolution,  she  struggled 
and  fought  her  weary  way  through  the 
resisting  laurel,  till  faint  from  exhaustion, 
brier-torn  and  bleeding,  she  tripped  and 
fell,  and  lay  pitiful  and  wretched  upon  the 
cold  ground.  The  old  hound,  following 
faithfully  in  her  wake,  pressed  his  long 
nose  close  to  her  cheek  and  licked  her  face 
in  loving  sympathy.  Finally  she  rose  from 
the  damp  earth  and  taking  courage,  hurried 
on,  picking  her  course  more  cautiously 
around  and  through  the  tangled  wildwood; 
soon  finding  her  way  into  an  open  clearing 
where  tall  trees,  deadened  for  the  golden 
seed,  reared  their  leafless  branches  far 
into  the  starry  sky,  and  stood  guarding 
the  way  like  grim  and  silent  pickets. 
Away  in  the  darkness  a  tiny  light 
gleamed  like  a  kindly  beacon,  and  the 
familiar  baying  of  a  dog  sounded  across 
the  fields. 

[in] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

"Nath!  Nath!"  she  cried,  as  she  plodded 
wearily  on. 

In  dreamy  fancy,  Nathan  Gentry  turned 
upon  his  pillow  and  smiled  in  half  con- 
scious bliss  as  his  name  floated  in  at  the 
open  window.  Then  with  the  return  of 
consciousness,  he  rose  upon  his  elbow  with 
wide,  staring  eyes,  and  listened,  tense  and 
breathless.  Again  the  distressful  cry  of 
his  name,  faint  yet  unmistakable,  sent  him 
to  his  feet. 

Out  in  the  night,  coatless  and  with 
uncovered  head,  he  groped  his  way,  then 
through  the  fields  he  swiftly  sped,  calling 
as  he  ran.  In  a  moment,  he  had  gained 
her  side  and  catching  her  unresisting  form 
in  his  protecting  arms,  stood  with  gleam- 
ing eyes,  and  firm-set  face,  gazing  about 
him,  searching  the  darkness  for  some 
unseen  foe. 

"Nath,"  she  moaned,  "I  am  so  glad  ye 
air   here.     Come    quick.     Bud    air   dyin', 
[uaj 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

an*  he  air  callin'  fer  ye,  an*  he  says  ye  air 
good,  an'  he  ain't  a-hatin'  ye  no  more." 

He  tenderly  smoothed  the  tresses  from 
her  anxious  brow,  showing  it  white  and 
beautiful  in  the  dim  starlight;  then  pressing 
his  face  close  to  hers,  he  whispered:  "Ah, 
Bettie,  it  air  sweet  ter  hear  yer  voice  agin! 
I  knew  it  war  an  angel  a-callinV 

Catching  her  hand  in  his  strong  grasp, 
they  passed  through  the  clearing  into  the 
dim  forest,  and  hastened  onward,  the  potent 
message  of  the  tired  girl  ringing  in  his  ears 
with  a  world  of  meaning,  purging  his  heart 
of  all  its  bitterness.  The  oft-trodden  way 
was  as  familiar  to  Nath  by  night  as  by  day, 
and  forging  ahead,  he  shielded  Bettie  from 
overhanging  limbs  and  cruel  briers,  till 
they  reached  the  starlit  pasture;  where, 
with  overwrought  body  taxed  beyond 
endurance,  limbs  weary  and  strength  all 
spent,  she  could  do  no  more.  Sinking  in 
utter  lassitude  in  the  tall  grass,  she  called 
[113] 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

wearily:      "Leave    me,    Nath,    leave    me. 
I  'm  afeard  ye  '11  be  too  late." 

"I  '11  never  leave  ye  agin,  Bettie,  so  long 
ez  life  lasts,  fer  ye  air  mine,"  he  answered, 
as  he  twined  his  sinewy  arms  about  her 
lithe  body  and  lifted  her  like  a  tired  child 
from  the  ground.  Then  bearing  her  ten- 
derly, but  with  a  mighty  strength,  he  passed 
onward,  her  arms  finding  their  timorous 
way  around  his  neck  and  falling  con- 
fidingly upon  his  broad  shoulders. 

Emerging  from  the  woods,  they  looked 
across  the  fields  to  where  the  dim,  shadowy 
outline  of  the  Taylor  home  loomed  like  a 
shrouded  phantom  against  the  distant  trees. 
Drawing  near,  a  nameless  something  made 
them  hesitate,  awestruck  and  silent,  while 
out  of  the  darkness  came  the  long,  prophetic 
baying  of  a  restless  dog,  waking  the  stilly 
night  with  a  chain  of  dreary  echoes  that 
died  away  in  the  far-off  mountain  coves. 
Then  they  stood  still  and  listened,  as 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOWS 

the  unmistakable  hush  of  death  wrapped 
the  little  abode  in  an  all-pervading  silence. 
He  caught  her  to  his  breast  and  held  her 
there,  while  the  plaintive  cry  of  a  stricken 
mother  sounded  in  the  night. 


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